


kiss me on the lips (and set me free)

by blackbluewoo



Category: A.C.E (Beat Interactive Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Also to my fellow junkwaners, Childhood Friends, Cigarettes, Coming Out, Each chapter is at a diff age, Im populating the tag, Internalized Homophobia, Long ass fic bc past me can't stfu, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Ok im gna shut up, Over the Years, Pola this ones for u, Separations, Unrequited Love, and, brief sexual references, reference to cheating, to lovers, u feel me, wait
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 06:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19969537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackbluewoo/pseuds/blackbluewoo
Summary: “You’re the only good thing about this town,” Junhee laughs, opening his eyes and turning towards Byeongkwan.He feels laid a little bare then, the way Junhee is looking at him with an insurmountable level of gentleness in gaze, the softness in his voice as he speaks. Byeongkwan turns his head so he faces out, towards the battered fence in front of him, but he can see Junhee in the corner of his eye. His face is carefully vacant, but his eyes are seemingly glazed over. It’s the closest Byeongkwan has seen him to tears, and suddenly, the thought of Junhee crying seems terrifying.--Byeongkwan and Junhee grow up together, with bicycles and wheat fields and trains to the big city.





	1. eleven years old

**Author's Note:**

> hello friends  
> this fic was written last year  
> as soon as you get into it you will most likely be able to tell my writing style is a little... different  
> im sorry it's so wordy.. i wld edit and cut stuff out but i literally cba. this has been rotting in my drafts. untouched. for six months. so im sorry for any errors. i hope u enjoy it regardless!! bear mind to any possibly triggering tags, the chapters are not tagged separately.

Summer clings to the city like a fever that can’t be shaken. September is beginning: the browning leaves on trees beginning to scatter, the sun sinking low in the sky in late afternoon, bringing with it the night that envelops their small town. Halloween decorations begin to adorn the doors of the more enthusiastic families in their neighbourhood. Yet, still, despite all of the autumnal colours paraded around them like an amber blur, the rain that thunders down in the second week of September like it’ll never relent- the sun stays. It’s hot, the air thick, the tarmac dry as if in a drought.

Byeongkwan kicks at loose pebbles. He whistles, or at least attempts to, along to a song he’d heard on the radio a few days ago. It was at Junhee’s house, the older boy having access to a station that played almost exclusively Girl’s Generation.

Junhee smiles at him now, softly, from where he’s standing- leaning against the faded red brick of their taekwondo building. He’d dyed his hair blonde in the summer, for a change, and mainly because his sister had left over bleach from when she had done her own. The colour had looked good on him, stark against his tan skin, but now, with the brown growing out, the yellow simply weeded through his hair in strands, the tips still giving way to the blonde. 

He’s handsome. For a thirteen year old. A thirteen year old guy who was Byeongkwan’s best friend. Puberty hadn’t caught him like it’d throttled the other boys in Junhee’s year, red acne and scars springing up on their previously unblemished skin. Junhee remained untouched, unscathed by its hands, but still matured. Beside Junhee, with his blonde-at-the-tips hair, Byeongkwan looked like a little boy.

With this in mind, it wasn’t surprising that Junhee took that moment; skin shining in the sun, hands tucked behind his back and converse scraping against the footpath, to tell Byeongkwan that  _ Jiwoo from maths class _ had asked him to the movies. 

Meeting his eyes only strikes a bigger pang of jealousy in Byeongkwan’s chest. The older boy has a catlike grin spread across his features, eyes almost closed with how hard he’s smiling. His face and ears are red from the heat, and Byeongkwan wants to punch him. 

Junhee and Jiwoo, going to the tatty theatre with their three dollar tickets to see a twelve movie that Byeongkwan wouldn’t be able to see until his next birthday. The thought was bitter.

“She might just wanna hang out,” Byeongkwan says, redirecting his eyes to the ground.

“She waits for me after all my guitar lessons,” Junhee states. “And we walk to class together.”

Byeongkwan looks up again, and Junhee is staring at him intensely. His features show some semblance of excitement, and the younger boy can’t bear to derive him of it, so he smiles in return. It comes out unnatural and forced, judging by how Junhee’s face falls at the sight of it.

“What?” Junhee asks, deflated.

“You don’t even know each other that well,” Byeongkwan comments, eyes falling to the ground.

“I went to her house last Sunday,” Junhee remarks, defensively.

Now, Byeongkwan actually looks up, actually looks at Junhee and his chestnut brown hair with blonde tips and his eyes in his stupid red t-shirt and cuffed jeans. He understands why someone like Jiwoo would go for someone like Junhee- they’re both irritatingly beautiful, irritatingly graceful, thirsted after by almost their entire grade. People actually  _ talk _ about them behind their backs and only in good ways, only in ways that make Byeongkwan blush and duck his head whenever he passed a huddle of girls.

Now, meeting Junhee’s eyes, he can tell the other boy is excited. Byeongkwan knows that much from two years of hanging out together, from looking up at eleven year-old Junhee on the floor of the park.

“That’s why you didn’t wanna go cycling,” Byeongkwan observes.

“Sorry,” Junhee says sheepishly, uncrossing his arms and pursing his lips.

It wasn’t as if Byeongkwan cared about dating anyway, cared about the fact that Junhee got to kiss pretty girls in the back of movie theatres while Byeongkwan got pushed to the floor outside of school, bit out by the boys that made fun of his ears and his height. Junhee always came and chased them away, voice loud and stature menacing, before he inevitably took Byeongkwan out to the courtyard, offering half of his strawberry yoghurt.

Junhee looks straight at him, biting his lip so hard that it makes Byeongkwan himself anxious. 

“Hyung,” Byeongkwan says softly.

Junhee turns his head. He catches the light like he belongs in the sun, eyes pools of impossible hazel- hair threads of gold woven together. Even the way his skin looks bronze, covered in a sheen of sweat, seems otherworldly.

There’s a beat of silence.

“Are you going to kiss her?” Byeongkwan asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Junhee stares at him, momentarily in shock, before the younger boy shoots a greasy wink at him.

Junhee smirks then, lets a “hey!” escape his lips as he pushes Byeongkwan against the brick wall, knocking the breath out of him. Byeongkwan laughs, loudly, his voice almost echoey. He watches as Junhee runs an exasperated hand through his hair, still smiling, and the older doesn’t have to give him an answer for Byeongkwan to just  _ know  _ it.

“Do you know how to kiss girls?” Byeongkwan teases.

“Do you?” Junhee retorts, now smiling widely again.

“Yeah, it’s super easy, you just-” 

Byeongkwan wraps his arms around himself, arms crossed over his chest, shoulders swinging, progressing closer to Junhee with shut eyes and pouted lips. The older boy yells, shoves Byeongkwan hard against the brick wall, face creased into laughter. Byeongkwan just carries on fake kissing the air, punctuating it with a high pitched  _ “Ah, Jiwoo noona!” _ before Junhee punches him in the shoulder and doubles over laughing. Byeongkwan stops imitating the kissing, instead smiling to himself as he watches how Junhee crouches on the flats of his feet to catch his breath. 

“If you kiss Jiwoo like that maybe she’ll marry you one day,” Byeongkwan jokes, also squatting in an attempt to be level with Junhee.

“If i kiss Jiwoo like that, she’ll run away,” Junhee replies playfully. “And besides, she’s younger than me. So, it’d be weird if i called her noona.”

Byeongkwan pauses for a moment, studying the older boy again. He’s panting slightly from laughter, tongue darting out from between his lips to lick them, eyes focuses intently on Byeongkwan. His skin is like a sheet of gold, only blemished by the small sun-freckles that are peppered across the tips of his cheekbones. 

They’re unusually close together, and Byeongkwan can’t help but think that this is what Jiwoo will see right before she kisses Junhee. 

They look at each other for a moment.

“Junhee oppa!” Byeongkwan exclaims squeakily.

“Hey!” Junhee shouts, pushing Byeongkwan to the ground with all the force he has. 

They tumble for a few seconds, arms and legs everywhere, knees scraping against the floor (it’s okay though, it doesn’t hurt, Byeongkwan’s too caught up in the moment). The floor is hot, and it burns through Byeongkwan’s t-shirt as he’s flipped onto his back and several punches hit his chest hard. The younger boy, in between giggles, begs for forgiveness, joining his hands together as if in prayer. 

They’re interrupted after less than a minute, the sound of Junhee’s car horn filling the empty space in front of the dance studio. Both of them rise quickly to their feet, dusting themselves off, as if they hadn’t been wrestling on the floor only moments before. There are telltale signs of dust from the gravel on their shirts, a rip on the hem of Byeongkwan’s t-shirt. If Junhee’s dad notices anything, he doesn’t say it, just taps expectantly on his steering wheel. 

Junhee grabs his duffel bag from behind him, and spins on the ball of his foot to face Byeongkwan.

“Do you need a ride?” Junhee asks.

“No, I’m fine.” Byeongkwan dismisses him quickly.

Junhee opens his mouth, as if contemplating to say something, but closes it sharply, features splitting into a cocky smile. Byeongkwan returns it, half-hearted, and watches as the older boy walks towards the car- duffel swinging, and piles himself beside his sister in the backseat. They argue over something briefly, before his sister plugs her headphones in and turns away from him. Byeongkwan smiles fondly, and offers a wave to Mr Park in the driver’s seat.

They drive away, leaving a trail of dust behind them, and Byeongkwan only watches.

Needless to say, the kiss is on his mind all week. Him and Junhee don’t usually hang out during school- Junhee preferring to stick to his group of 13 year olds and Byeongkwan, today, kicking around a soccer ball with the new kid. He doesn’t know his name, doesn’t care about it either, just cares that he’s a good game and almost distracts Byeongkwan from the thought that after this bell, Junhee and Jiwoo are catching a bus to downtown and watching a twelve movie. 

The bell goes, and the new kid leaves. Byeongkwan moves to the exit, ball clutched beneath his arm. He waits, like he’s forgotten that Junhee has a date tonight. This is what they usually do- wait by the exit, until the other boy appears, and they talk about their day together. Sometimes they take their bikes, sometimes they take the bus, and sometimes they walk- sneakers scratching against the harsh ground.

As promised, Junhee emerges, beside Jiwoo. They’re not holding hands, but they might as well be- shoulders pressed so close together that they move as siamese twins, even when jostling past a crowd of people. Byeongkwan watches them, somewhat bitterly, at how Junhee’s hand shyly falls from his side into Jiwoo’s grasp, how they give each other a gentle glance.

Byeongkwan turns around, and kicks the ball hard, watching as it skids against the tarmac of the playground, hitting a stop again a few wooden chairs. It punctures itself, and slowly deflates.

It’s not until that Saturday, the day after Junhee’s date, that the older boy arrives on Byeongkwan’s porch, ringing the bell of his bicycle. It lets out a harsh shrill against the calm evening, and Byeongkwan rises from his position on the sofa to peer out the window at the figure of Junhee perched on the seat of his bike. He opens the front door, walks slowly towards Junhee, the other boy sporting a wide grin. With his heart in his throat, Byeongkwan goes on his tip toes and fiddles with the gate that leads into their back garden, and goes to fish out his bike. Junhee is still ringing the bell, fingers most likely alive with excitement, but it arouses Byeongkwan’s mom from her nap on the sofa. When Byeongkwan emerges from his garden, grip tight on the handlebars of his bicycle, his mom is standing on their porch, hands resting on her hips.

He shoots a look at Junhee, one that makes the other boy cycle away slowly, down the curved road that leads down to an endless expanse of farmland. Byeongkwan carefully guides his bike to the footpath outside his house, listening to his mom’s lecture until he’s adequately positioned to mount the bike and pedal away. His mom yells, waving her arms, but Byeongkwan simply turns- waving with a grin.

Junhee is waiting for him around the corner, and as Byeongkwan arrives, the two boys take off together wordlessly. Junhee pedals ahead, standing instead of sitting, biking slowly down the winding paths that take them to pass a kissing fence, pass the fields they laid in over the summer break, down a bumpy cobbled road. The sun is still up, dimming, the coming winter shortening the days until they feel like nothing. Junhee’s skin catches it again, making him glow, copper-coloured hair blowing out in the steady wind.

They finally come to a stop, hopping off their bikes and resting them against a worn fence. Byeongkwan wipes away the sweat from his brow, the heat still insistent despite the coming season. 

He knows what’s coming when Junhee turns around, leans his arms on the fence in front of him, smile broad across his features, eyes hazel in the orange haze of the sun. The older boy looks like something that should be contained in a photograph, framed on the wall of a museum. 

“I kissed Jiwoo,” he says suddenly.

Byeongkwan presses his lips into a smile, something akin to bitterness bubbling inside of him. He shouldn’t be jealous, he knows, Junhee is two years older than him- he has two years to catch up, two years to kiss pretty girls and go on dates. But somehow, this feels like the end rather than the beginning- like a close. Junhee’s kissed a girl, and it makes Byeongkwan feel strange.

“How was it?” He askes, clipped.

“It was good,” Junhee says, smiling bigger. “Really good.”

Byeongkwan hums thoughtfully, looking straight ahead, out across the golden wheat fields that seem to gleam in the setting sun against the quickly darkening sky.

-

It’s a while later, a couple of months, after Junhee and Jiwoo have run the course of their short-lived relationship, when Byeongkwan finds Jiwoo in the place where he normally kicks around a football afterschool (only while he waits for Junhee to finish his extra maths tuition). 

He can only stare in shock for a few seconds, brain unable to process Jiwoo- neat pigtails and perfect uniform- against the back of the school with it’s harsh brick walls and gutters filled with litter. She pulls at her skirt, and fiddles with the buttons on her cardigan before looking up at Byeongkwan. She takes several cautious steps forward- careful not to stain her white socks with the same mud that the fringe of Byeongkwan’s trousers are covered in.

“Noona,” He says, instinctively.

“Byeongkwan,” Jiwoo replies.

He’s still holding the football beneath his arm, but when Jiwoo lays a gentle hand on his shoulder, it drops to the floor and rolls away. Her touch feels oddly intimate, a contrast to the way she had glared at him a little over a month ago when he had linked arms with Junhee. She seems softer, now, hazy around the edges, almost angelic.

“W-why, why are you here?” 

“Why shouldn’t I be?” Jiwoo snaps, and despite her soft actions, her words seem cold and bitter.

“I-” Byeongkwan begins.

She closes the distance between them with a clumsy kiss, the type that only inexperienced teenagers can exchange. Her hair smells like strawberries, and Byeongkwan could feel her chest press against his when their lips met. Naturally, Byeongkwan widens his eyes, and takes a few shocked steps back- looking in shock at Jiwoo’s smirk.

“You’re a better kisser than Junhee.”

Byeongkwan feels uncomfortable, like the mud has made its way beneath his skin. The way Jiwoo is looking at him gives way to no deeper emotion than simple envy, but all Byeongkwan feels is out of his depth. Jiwoo just walks away, ponytail swinging as she does.

Not so much later, Byeongkwan and Junhee lay on the floor of Junhee’s bedroom. They’re in silence, having finished a particularly stimulating conversation about Dragon Ball-Z, completed only by Junhee’s Goku impression that left them both in tears.

The atmosphere is tender, and Byeongkwan breaks it to Junhee- recounts the story of how Jiwoo had approached him behind school and kissed him. He watches the older boy’s face carefully as he describes how his ex-girlfriend had approached with gentle hands and peppermint breath in a kiss that Byeongkwan can’t quite put into words without stuttering.

He doesn’t know what to expect from Junhee- outrage, maybe? But he only tilts his head slightly, inclined towards Byeongkwan, and smiles. 

“How was it?” 

Byeongkwan’s gaze flits from Junhee’s lips back up to his eyes, and he swallows thickly.

“It was weird,” 

Junhee giggles slightly, turns his head away, back up to face the ceiling. Glow-in-the-dark stickers litter the top of Junhee’s room, and the two boys stay in silence for a while as they stare up. The light is green against the blue paint of Junhee’s room, the white accenting that stains the corners and lines of his room.

“Have you read Death Note?” Junhee asks.

They don’t talk about Jiwoo again, after that.


	2. twelve years old

The air is cold, freezing- seeps under Byeongkwan’s skin, beneath the layers of coats and hoodies he’s piled onto himself. Even the blanket they sit on to protect them from the frosty grass beneath seems to transport ice directly into his veins, cause his teeth to chatter behind the scarf he’s wrapped around his neck. Junhee seems unaffected, one would think maybe he wasn’t even cold- if he’s features didn’t showcase the reddening tips of his nose and ears. He blinks slowly, eyes focused on something in the distance- hands wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate Junhee’s dad had provided before leaving for his workplace’s New Year’s party.

They were alone together. Junhee’s sisters had caked makeup onto their faces, rearranged their bodies into dresses that looked like they were sizes too small. Byeongkwan had taken a brief step away, watched as they ruffled Junhee’s hair before heading out into the car which had an angry looking senior honking inside. Intimidated, Byeongkwan had naturally taken a step behind Junhee as he said goodbye to his sisters- but Junhee seemed brave, even offered a wave to the boy in the front seat who crushed a cigarette in his palm and littered it outside of his car.

Then, smiling and offering a wave to his sisters who piled into the car, Junhee seemed big- like his braveness had come out of his body and physically increased his stature.

Now, he seemed small, buried beneath layers of coats and sweaters, a blanket slung across his shoulder- eyes aimed towards the sky. 

The tips of Byeongkwan’s fingers were numb, his empty and discarded cardboard cup, once filled with hot chocolate, holding no warmth anymore than the ground beneath them. Despite that fact- the sky was endless above them, and they sat in anticipation for the fireworks that would come shortly and litter the sky with colour in streaks and explosions. He could see the excitement written all over Junhee’s face, in his slightly parted lips- pink from the cold, all the way to his starlit eyes. Mist formed in small clouds when the older boy exhaled- white against the stark black night they sat in.

His eyes fell from the sky above them, to look at Byeongkwan. His lips closed shut, and he sniffled lightly. Byeongkwan suddenly felt self-conscious with Junhee’s eyes, his entire attention, focused on him. He offers a gentle smile, the type Junhee always returns immediately, cheer written across his features. Now, though, he stays perfectly still- almost like a statue, eyes still intent on Byeongkwan.

“You okay?” Byeongkwan asks, nervous laugh fluttering into his voice.

Junhee rests his mug beside him, with shaking hands, and looks back at Byeongkwan. The younger boy cocks his head in confusion, offers a hand on Junhee’s arm as if to offer silent reassurance. With this, Junhee lowers his gaze, eyes baring into his lap where his legs are folded and his fingers play with each other. With a burning curiosity in his throat that he couldn’t voice even if he tried, Byeongkwan watches him. Junhee could probably see the younger through his peripheral- feel the eyes baring into him as if trying to tear past the layers and discover what the boy was hiding.

His shoulders begin to shake. Byeongkwan stares, in shock, for a moment before Junhee raises his gaze to meet Byeongkwan’s own- eyes puddled with tears. The tears spilled over, ran over his cheeks in a waterfall, dripped down his chin like honey. Byeongkwan could only look in semi-contained horror at the previously composed Junhee looking at him with a desperate expression, teeth clenched together to hold sobs back.

“Hyung,” Byeongkwan says, reaching forward to thumb away Junhee’s tears, the feeling warm even against the cold porcelain of the older boy’s skin.

“I’m sorry,” Junhee says, lowering his face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“What? What are you sorry about?”

Junhee looks at him again, and seems to search Byeongkwan’s eyes.

“I want to tell you,” Junhee starts, interrupting himself with a hiccup. “But you’ll- you-ll,”

“Hyung,” Byeongkwan whines, turning around to face Junhee completely and knocking the blanket off his own shoulders. “Tell me, please. Did you kiss Soyeon?”

Junhee’s lip trembles, and he begins to sob again.

“It’s not Soyeon,” He cries. “It’s Rayoon.”

Byeongkwan is suspended in momentary confusion.

“Rayoon?” 

“I-” Junhee is interrupted by another hiccup, that he swallows back before wiping his tears with the back of his hand. 

“I have, a crush. On Rayoon.” 

“Rayoon… your friend? The guy from soccer?” 

Junhee nods in affirmation.

“You’re gay?”

Junhee nods, swallowing and sniffling thickly, his entire face pink to match the tip of his nose and his ears. The hot chocolate sits, discarded, beside the shrivelled blanket Junhee shrouds himself in. His sweater piles around him, sizes too big, turtleneck drawn up to right beneath his chin, hair now fallen in his face from moving his head around. He doesn’t look gay, doesn’t look like the men Byeongkwan has seen in magazines with gelled hair and rainbow thongs and makeup. There’s no hint of that on Junhee, no hint of that in the girls he’s kissed and talked about doing other things with, there’s no hint of that in the soccer club he plays in, there’s no hint of that anywhere.

Carefully, Byeongkwan pulls his hand away from Junhee’s face and watches as they older boy folds in on himself, crumples as he cries. His heart is beating in his chest, in his throat, watching as Junhee’s hair falls into his face yet again, and as he meets Byeongkwan’s gaze, snot dribbles down his upper lip.

He’s never seen Junhee cry this hard.

And now, in a split second, Byeongkwan realises Junhee’s searching for his approval. For Byeongkwan’s approval. For someone that’s been his best friend for three years to reassure him that it’d be okay, that it doesn’t matter. And, if Byeongkwan was being honest, he didn’t know that it didn’t matter, he didn’t know if it would change anything between the two of them. But, the cool night air that seemed to be a perfect passage for words of comfort and reassurance, and Junhee’s hunched over figure trying to restrain his sobbing evoked a pang of something Byeongkwan wasn’t quite sure of in his chest, and he found himself placing two hands on the older boy’s shoulders, pinning the fleece blanket to his frame.

Junhee looks up at him, and Byeongkwan curls his fingers naturally. The look in his eyes in vulnerable, gives way to a childish emotion of fear that Byeongkwan has never seen displayed so candidly in the older boy. He was always Byeongkwan’s comfort, Byeongkwan’s protection, the one who stood up for him in the cafeteria when someone spilled cold ramen down the back of his shirt. He remembers the pitch of Junhee’s voice, the thunder of his feet and the slap of skin against linoleum and Junhee knocked Byeongkwan’s aggressor to the floor. He wasn’t particularly powerful- instead, smaller than most of the boys in his grade- but his gaze was intimidating, the boy who harassed Byeongkwan leaving with a few mumbled curses on his tongue. 

His gaze is soft now, desperate.

“It’s okay,” Byeongkwan says, the words spilling out clumsy and ill formed. “I don’t care, it doesn’t matter, it’s fine. Okay? It’s fine. I don’t care.”

There’s a moment of hope, Junhee small beneath Byeongkwan’s grip despite being physically broader, but he seems to shrink back into himself within a few moments, and duck his head. He cries, again.

“Hyung, stop crying, please-”

The sentence is interrupted midway by a bang, and Byeongkwan looks towards the source- looks up at the sky. There are streams and streaks of colour all at once, loud screaming filling the silence that blanketed them before. In his peripheral, he can see Junhee looking up too- colour reflected in the tears on his cheeks. The remnants of the fireworks scatter with loud patters, only for the brief silence to be filled by thundering again after a few moments.

Whites and golds stain the night sky- illuminate in a similar way to what would’ve been stars, if not for the city pollution. Despite the obviousness of the lights, Byeongkwan raises a finger and points towards them- leaning closer towards Junhee. There’s a whistle, and then another explosion as colour rains down around them.

“Look,” Byeongkwan mumbles. “They’re congratulating you.”

Junhee laughs, but it comes out wet, snot shooting out of his nostrils. Byeongkwan retreats quickly, almost gagging at the sight, hiding a smile.

“I hate you,” Junhee laughs, hand over his nose.

His face is still pink, eyes slightly swollen from his weeping. Byeongkwan offers a smile, and Junhee smiles back instantly.

Colour explodes around them, and it reflects in the night, and in the pools of Junhee’s eyes. There are crinkles surrounding them, a telltale sign of his happiness, and Byeongkwan feels a more genuine smile make its way across his features as a consequence. Fireworks carry on splattering the night sky with light, and they watch it- pressed shoulder to shoulder.

“Rayoon.” Byeongkwan says, after some time.

Junhee buries his head into his hands, sighing loudly.

“I know, it’s-”

“Why do you like him?” 

Junhee looks at Byeongkwan, confusion written across his face. The older boy has always worn his heart across his sleeve, and Byeongkwan regrets his question as soon as it passes his lips.

“I just-” Byeongkwan turns back to look at the sky. “I don’t know.”

“I mean, I don’t ever know why I have crushes on people. It just happens.” 

They both look at eachother, just for a second. Another firework explodes above their heads, and they both redirect their eyes to it. The moment passes just like that.  
-

“You should just tell him,” Euna says candidly, swinging her legs from where she sits high on the bleachers.

“Bad idea,” Junhee laughs. His eyes are still trailing Rayoon, across the pitch, kicking a football around. He’s in his kit and looks like he’s soaked through with sweat, despite the cool conditions. 

Byeongkwan doesn’t really know why he’s here. It makes him feel kind of out of place, being beside Euna and Junhee as they both watch Rayoon intently. The three of them moved as a unit, that’s all Byeongkwan knew, having not had any personal interactions with Rayoon or Euna other than a wave or a text about Junhee. The three of them had their inside jokes, had their own banter that was completely separate to Byeongkwan and the friendship he had with Junhee. That made him wonder, sometimes, if his perception of Junhee was completely 3D. They had never really hung out with a big group of people, and despite Junhee’s interactions with Euna being similar to the way he treated Byeongkwan, the younger boy felt like a child standing among adults.

“Look, he’s almost finished,” Euna whispers. They all turn and look at Rayoon as he’s called over to the coach, signifying the end of a practice. “You could tell him now.”

“What if he doesn’t…” Junhee trails off.

“Bullshit,” Byeongkwan contributes. 

He hasn’t seen the two boys interact very often, but from what he’s seen, and gathered from the information Euna helpfully supplied, they both like each other. It seems very much like a game of cat and mouse on the outside, but, as Euna said, it was more tender. Neither of them wanted to approach the thought that they could be anything other than friends, and while Euna said that it’s cute she also said it drives me fucking insane.

“He’s finished.” Euna announces, smug smile written across her features.

Rayoon is walking towards them now, arms swinging by his sides, legs coated in mud and face pink from the exercise. 

“Okay,” Junhee says slowly. “I’m gonna do it.”

Byeongkwan pats him on the back reassuringly, and watches as the older boy sprints forward to meet Rayoon. He notes how Rayoon reaches out with a hand to grab at Junhee’s arm, how Junhee leans into him and takes him by the hand to walk away from him and Euna’s line of sight. Junhee turns around, discreetly, and shoots the two of them a thumbs up. 

Euna and Byeongkwan pass the time fairly uneventfully. After a few minutes of whistling and sighing, Euna takes Junhee’s coat that he left behind to utilise as a pillow, and Byeongkwan rests on the bleachers, eyes scanning around the corner for any sight of the two boys emerging. The thought makes him excited, makes the blood seem to rush around his veins. 

The frost on the grass has started to relent now, in late March, and the air is warm but distilled by a cool breeze. It’s only early afternoon, a Saturday, Byeongkwan only called along to aid Junhee in his mission to confess to Rayoon. The thought had made him feel a little weird, a little out of his depth at first, but with Euna’s encouragement Byeongkwan had found himself making similar statements.

After what seems like forever, and what is more likely ten minutes, the two boys emerge from around the corner. Byeongkwan nudges Euna with his knee, and after sleepily whining for a few seconds, she rises- Junhee’s coat wrapped around her shoulders. They both squint- trying to catch sight of any difference in the two boys who are standing shoulder-to-shoulder.

Something bitter inside of Byeongkwan hopes that Rayoon had let Junhee down.

The closer they get, Byeongkwan can see the two boys are linked by their pinky fingers. He gives Junhee a smile and a thumbs up, whereas Euna sprints down the bleachers haphazardly and embraces the two boys in her grip around their shoulders. She shakes them viciously, and Byeongkwan takes Junhee’s sympathetic grin as a sign to join the three of them on the grass.

“-and it was about time you got together, it was driving me fucking insane, probably Byeongkwan too and he doesn’t even have to hang out with you two,” Euna rambles, smiling broadly.

Rayoon scratches the back of his head awkwardly, and exchanges a glance with Junhee. The way they look at each other is almost infuriating- with a softness that Byeongkwan hadn’t anticipated but he supposed he should’ve. Even with his previous girlfriends, the ones that Byeongkwan still isn’t sure that Junhee had any interest in in the first place, Junhee was always gentle. Rayoon was too, from what little impression of him Byeongkwan had gathered. The two of them together made Byeongkwan want to stick his fingers down his throat.

Byeongkwan didn’t particularly know why he felt so bitter, but he attributed it to the fact that Junhee was older, more mature- had dated both girls and boys and even gained his own best friend in that battle. Next to him, Byeongkwan always felt like a child.

“Do any of you want ice-cream?” Junhee offers.

“Sure,” Byeongkwan replies, shrugging on his coat.


	3. fourteen years old

The sun had long gone, dipped beneath the horizon- stealing away with it the colours of light. There were no wisps of peach or gold left dancing on the skyline, the night filled with impossible, abysmal black- only drowned out by the few specks of light, stars, that filled it with white light. 

Only a lamp was on in Byeongkwan’s room, faintly illuminating the calculus that was overdue by almost a week. His dance classes took up too much time, and he hung out with Junhee on the weekends because that was the only time the older boy was free. Consequently, his work had started to fall behind- his teachers even calling his parents into school to remark on a particularly poorly completed biology exam.

It was past eleven, long past, the weariness starting to make it’s home in Byeongkwan’s veins, his mind refusing to cooperate as he tapped his pen against the paper. He read the question, reread it- trying to make sense of the numbers, trying to summon a force in his mind that would solve it for him.

After a minute or so of staring at the quickly blurring words in his textbook, Byeongkwan shuts it with a slam. It rocks his broken desk, only held together by the support one folded (failed) chemistry test provided beneath a leg of the table. He sighs loudly, trying to make it clear to his mom in the other room that no matter how hard he tries, he might just be stupid. There’s no sugarcoating it, because all his reports and test scores tell the same tale. 

There’s a knock at the door, and Byeongkwan’s exhaustion is pushed to the back of his mind as he rises to his feet, his curiosity getting the best of him to see who would be knocking at this time of night. He can hear his mom gently protest from where she sits, draped across the sofa, blanket pulled across her lap loosely, but he peers through the eye hole anyway, and is taken aback by what he sees.

He sees Junhee, arms crossed- wearing a leather jacket and jeans, eyes swollen, presumably from crying. Without any hesitation, Byeongkwan swings open the front door- shocking Junhee, whose dress doesn’t hide his expression and the twitching of his lip. His eyes are still riddled with tears, and his bottom lip is bitten so hard it’s drawn blood, which is now dried along the bottom. The tip of his nose is red, presumably from rubbing with the sleeve of his jacket. Even his hair, which he takes special care to set strand-by-strand in the mornings, is mussed now, fringe falling into his eyes. 

“What…?” Byeongkwan begins.

“Please,” Junhee says hoarsely, then proceeds to clear his throat before continuing. “Come with me.”

Byeongkwan glances behind to his mom who looks at him suspiciously from the sofa. He could slide on a pair of shoes now, from where he was standing right beside the door, and slip out. For the next few days, he would be subject to more than a lot of yelling and lectures- but right now he let his curiosity and need to comfort Junhee get the best of him. He would get yelled at for longer than a few days if it meant being there for his best friend.

So he nods vaguely, and Junhee backs away, back into his car, and turns the ignition on. Byeongkwan slips some shoes on, his mom’s eyes now focused on the soap that’s playing on the tv, casting blue light across the darkened living room. However, as he passes between the small gap of his door frame and the door, shutting the door behind him, he can hear his mom cry in outrage. He sprints towards the passenger door, which Junhee opened, and jumps in.

Not moments later, Byeongkwan’s mom flings open the door, and yells Byeongkwan’s name. It’s too late, because Junhee presses his foot down hard on the accelerator- and they’ve sped away within a few seconds. 

Junhee had gotten his license early last summer, as soon as he could. He’d inherited his grandpa’s old, broken up car. It rattled everytime it was started up, if it even started up at all, and Junhee had lost the keys as soon as he had received the car so now he had resorted to hotwiring it every time he needed to go somewhere. The radio was also broken, so Junhee’s iPod rested on the dashboard almost eternally, ready to blast out music whenever possible, or whenever Junhee had remembered to charge it.

Tonight is not one of those nights. The car is shrouded in silence, apart from the faint humming of the engine and the rattle of the car parts.

“Are you gonna tell me why you showed up at my house at eleven at night?” Byeongkwan asks, looking over at Junhee.

His grip is tight on the steering wheel, so much so that his knuckles have turned white. His jaw is steeled, set at a sharp angle, giving way to no emotion other than the redness of his eyes. Byeongkwan knows this face, knows the face that Junhee had learned to adopt when the boys at his high school had told him that crying wasn’t for men, it was for women and gays. Since then, he had clenched his jaw so tight that it looked like it was going to snap, lips bitten so harshly that dried blood encrusted them like rubies. 

Needless to say, the older boy doesn’t grace Byeongkwan with a reply, just pushes down harder on the accelerator as they whistle through a tunnel at a speed that was probably very illegal. The windows are drawn up, but Byeongkwan can still hear the whip of the air as it flies past them, only giving out when they finally progress back into open air, the yellow lighting of the tunnel instead now an infinite sky above their heads.

“Junhee, you have to stop driving eventually.” 

Next to Junhee, with his jaw sealed in iron, Byeongkwan felt hopeless. He wasn’t old enough to be dealing with this, to be dealing with Junhee driving wherever the fuck at ass o’clock at night. It had since progressed from 11 o’clock, Byeongkwan was sure of it- from the way he found themselves returning on already driven roads and worn streets. 

Junhee was elongating the time before he’d have to say something to Byeongkwan, explain to him why he was running. It scared Byeongkwan, just a little bit, to see Junhee so wordless, so empty-headed and thoughtless and uncalculating, because that was the exact opposite of what he was supposed to be. They had been friends for a little over half a decade, and Byeongkwan had memorised each face of his- each expression and quip, and this new stone mask he wore when he refused to express any sort of emotion made Byeongkwan feel hopeless.

In the sort of way that Byeongkwan was always able to coax emotion out of Junhee. When he got called something stupid by a bunch of insecure teenagers on the way home, when his dad had called him a disappointment in the spur of a moment- a failed maths test, a bad break up (him and Rayoon were something, until they just weren’t), no matter what it was Byeongkwan felt like he could make Junhee feel something, make his expression give way to something that wasn’t cold and rocky.

“You’re worrying me,” Byeongkwan admits.

Junhee pulls over at that, swerves, even, onto the hard shoulder and pulls the gear into park. Byeongkwan watches, afraid that Junhee is going to snap, when he closes his eyes and leans back into the faded leather of his seat, muscles in his neck tense. He swallows, Byeongkwan can see it, his adam’s apple bobbing, and Byeongkwan knows in that split second that Junhee is holding back tears. He wants to make Junhee look at him, let the tears overflow, but he knows Junhee would never let that happen. Not this Junhee, not now. Maybe when they were younger.

He just lets Junhee brew in silence for a moment, sift through his mind and his worries, while he sits beside him in silence. 

After a few minutes, Junhee opens his eyes and turns to Byeongkwan. The younger boy is relieved, thinks almost briefly that Junhee will speak to him calmly and rationally-- until Junhee yells and leans down into the steering well, hands tight around it again, shoulders beginning to heave in the first formation of his sobbing. Byeongkwan looks at him softly, sympathetically, wanting to envelop him in a hug but in the same sentence knowing Junhee refuses touch when he’s upset.

“I came out to my dad,” Junhee says, voice thick with tears.

Byeongkwan doesn’t say anything, carries on looking at Junhee’s hunched over figure and the streetlights reflecting off of his hair. 

“It was stupid. I don’t know why I did it, or what I expected.”

Junhee leans back suddenly, falls with a thump into the leather chair. 

“He kicked me out.  _ Go find your own place, don’t bring it into my house _ . I didn’t think he was being serious,” Junhee exhales loudly, and runs both his hands through his hair. “I-I, he threw out all my stuff. Onto my bed. To tell me to leave. Then I just took the car, and- came to you.”

He looks at Byeongkwan now. Something sits heavy in his gaze, the same something that carves dark circles into the skin beneath his eyes, the same thing that haunts his shaking hands and his ashtray full of discarded cigarettes.

“Why didn’t you go to your boyfriend?”

Junhee snorts, and looks out to the empty road. A car whirs past them, lights bright against the dark. Byeongkwan thinks of Jaeyoung then, thinks about his gelled hair and breath that smelt of ash and calloused hands that seemed to grasp too tightly onto Junhee for either of their liking. With this in mind, Byeongkwan is happy that Junhee doesn’t answer that question- instead stays quiet, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth.

“You can come to mine,” Byeongkwan offers.

“Your mom hates me.”

“She won’t if you tell her why.”

Junhee closes his eyes for a few seconds. He opens them and blinks slowly, blearily.

“Okay,” Junhee says. “Okay.”

He pulls out of the hard shoulder, and makes a U-Turn. Byeongkwan feels some of the ache in his chest ease, his heartbeat slow to a thrumming in his ears, that only increases as Junhee pulls to the front of Byeongkwan’s house. Junhee has been here a thousand times, maybe more, ranging from when he was only eleven years old to now- five years later. In the back of his mind, Byeongkwan can’t help but feel this is different, this is some sort of turning point which has significance Byeongkwan won’t realise until after, until maybe it’s too late. Time feels like a thick jelly, something he can slice through and take pieces of out of, something where this moment- Junhee pulling the gear into park, face perfectly expressionless- plays forever.

They exit the car, and with the loud slam of the doors behind them, Byeongkwan’s mom comes out of the front door, and immediately runs towards her son- disregarding Junhee completely He’s taken into his mom’s arms, her hands in his hair and yelled curses in his ear. He shoots a sympathetic glance towards Junhee, who has a sad smile written across his face, leaning against the hood of his car with his hands in his pockets. He looks small.

After a few seconds, Byeongkwan’s mom turns to face Junhee, still clutching her son to her closely.

“Now you have to explain to me why you took my son, on a school night, from my house, without his phone. I really hope you have a good excuse.”

Junhee remained silent, eyeing Byeongkwan’s mom. To anyone else, the tiny smile on his face would look cocky, his blank expression and slow blinking only give way to disrespect. Byeongkwan knew him too well, knew the tension in his neck and shoulders despite his relaxed posture, knew the glassiness of his eyes.

“Mom,” Byeongkwan says softly. “He needs a place to stay.”

His mom furrows her eyebrows in confusion, grip loosening on Byeongkwan’s back.

“Why?” 

Junhee looks down at his feet, and Byeongkwan feels familiarity bloom in his chest. He’s been here before, not with his mom, not outside his house too late in the night or too early in the morning, but nearly two years ago- when the sky was littered with colour. It brings him back to that moment, and Byeongkwan’s chest aches with everything he wants to give to Junhee.

As if on cue, Junhee starts to cry. His face is lowered, but anyone can tell from the movement of his shoulders, the telltale dripping of his tears onto the ground beneath him. Byeongkwan’s mom moves quickly then, her bathrobe rustling against Byeongkwan as she takes Junhee into her arms, hand on his head quickly lowered to her shoulder, comforting pats on his back. He’s silent, now- no hiccuping or sniffling, but somehow it hurts just a little bit more.

“What happened, sweetheart? You can tell me, Junhee.”

“You’ll hate me,” He says.

Byeongkwan feels like someone’s stabbing him in the stomach, tears unconsciously rising to his eyes. He watches his mom pull away, hands on either side of Junhee’s face. She touches him softly, wipes away tears with her fingers that are flecked with burns from cooking. Junhee looks desperately at her, same look in his eye, with a different heaviness. 

“Nothing will make me hate you, ever. You’re my son, okay?”

Tears dribble down Junhee’s cheeks.

“I like boys,” He says, and his face creases into tears again. 

He tries to pull away from Byeongkwan’s mom, tries to shrug away her touch and presumably run. Byeongkwan watches as his mom holds his best friend back, pulls him closer to her than he was before.

“Nothing like that matters to me,” She says sternly. “At all.”

He cries some more after that, and Byeongkwan wipes away his tears indiscreetly. His mom looks at him with sympathy in her eyes, but her attention is mainly focused on Junhee, whose arms are now wrapped around her waist instead of by his side.

They stay there, the three of them, outside of Byeongkwan’s open house with all the lights on and the front door swung open. A few moments pass before Byeongkwan’s mom pulls away, wipes the tears from Junhee’s face one last time before offering him to come inside. She’s done it before, but it feels different now. Byeongkwan doesn’t know how, doesn’t know why, but the way she runs her fingers through Junhee’s hair reassuringly makes his heart beat thickly in his throat, to where he can’t swallow.

They all enter the house, a pleasing warmth encompassing Byeongkwan. He’s tired, and cold, and his head is spinning. All he can note before he mindlessly changes into his pajamas and climbs into his bed is Junhee denying a mug of hot chocolate that Byeongkwan’s mom had offered. Junhee had made his way to the bathroom after that, pile of folded clothes and a spare toothbrush set on top in his arms. 

Junhee enters his room not long after. He shuts the door gently, but it still lets out a creak that disrupts the silence. 

“Sorry,” Junhee says, as he slides back Byeongkwan’s duvet.

It’s been a while since the two of them slept in the same bed. It’s too small for the both of them now, as teenagers, with Junhee’s long, lanky limbs somehow finding Byeongkwan’s own legs. There’s too much body in one bed, and whilst it doesn’t make Byeongkwan feel uncomfortable perse, it makes a feeling rise in his chest- embarrassment, almost. He feels small next to Junhee, whose face is now buried beneath the blanket, hair sticking up in tufts.

A few minutes pass, and silence surrounds them. 

“Are you awake?” Byeongkwan mumbles.

Junhee grunts, voice low and tired. He opens one eye to look at Byeongkwan, half a smile on his face.

“Are you gonna go back after school tomorrow?” Byeongkwan asks.

There’s a faint rustling of bedsheets as Junhee readjusts himself, pushes himself onto the pillow so his mouth isn’t hidden behind Byeongkwan’s blankets. He scans Byeongkwan’s face for a moment before speaking.

“Do you think I should?”

“You have to, right? Get your stuff, or go back home.”

“Where will I go if he actually kicks me out?”

“Here.” Byeongkwan says firmly, any hesitation rid from his voice.

“I can’t stay here forever,” Junhee says.

“It’s only two years.” Byeongkwan states.

He seems to think about it, eyes focused on Byeongkwan but still glazed over, evidently weighing out the viability of the situation.

“I don’t know,” He says, finally.

“It’s okay,” Byeongkwan assures him. “We can figure it out in the morning.”

They stay in silence, briefly. Byeongkwan observes how the light from the window beside his bed hits Junhee’s face, how it highlights the angles and the curves, the set of his jaw and the slant of his eyes. He knew that face like the back of his hand, like the lines on his palm, like the way the sun set in the evening and rose in the morning, like the way the moon hung in the sky with all her stars. With his eyes closed, he could probably trace the lines of his face, write out every expression of his in sickening detail. It was Junhee, and he was in Byeongkwan’s bed, dark circles imprinted beneath his eyes as if stamped there. Junhee. Junhee. Junhee.

“Junhee.” Byeongkwan whispers.

Junhee hums in reply.

I love you, he wants to say. Those words feel weighty on his tongue, too large for his throat. 

“We should sleep.” 

And so they do.

-

Junhee goes home, after school. His dad is waiting for him on the front step, and Byeongkwan watches from the passenger seat of the car as Junhee walks up to him, hands set by his sides, fists clenched. The anger only relents when his dad descends the steps, lips trembling, jaw set at an angle, face giving way to no emotion. Junhee stumbles slightly as he walks, but when he meets his dad in the middle, he pauses.

There’s a few seconds where the two Parks look at each other.

Junhee’s dad pulls him in for a hug, slings his arms over his sons shoulders and buries his face into him. He pulls away after a few moments, and takes Junhee’s face in both his hands.

Then he cries.

Some of the pain, the tightness, in Byeongkwan’s chest, fades. 


	4. sixteen years old

“It’s the end,” Junhee proclaims, voice overdramatic. Byeongkwan smirks in reply, burying his hands deeper into his pockets, aiming his face towards the sky. Above the two of them, stars hide behind pollution, but the moon peers through regardless. It does feel like the end, in a way, standing shoulder to shoulder against the wall of a cafe, Junhee struggling with a lighter and a cigarette dangling between his lips.

He doesn’t know why Junhee smokes. Nearly two years ago, with the heartbreak of his boyfriend cheating on him with his mouthful of ash and cigarette burns on his stonewash jeans, Junhee had promised to no-one in particular that he would never smoke, never touch a cigarette.

Now, he doesn’t care. With the heat of summer heavy on their shoulders, weeded beneath their skin, he blows smoke out into the night. The end of his cigarette glows orange against the night they stand in. Junhee shudders as he exhales eyes closing, as if on instinct. Byeongkwan thinks he finds some peace in it, but he would never understand why.

“Will you come back for Christmas?” Byeongkwan asks.

“I don’t know,” Junhee replies, taking another drag. “Tickets from here to Seoul cost a lot. Dad says I should just stay there until next summer, and he’ll come.”

_ What about me? _ Byeongkwan wants to say, but he doesn’t.

Junhee probably doesn’t care all that much, he’s leaving for god’s sake- with his driving license and stubble dotted across the tip of his chin and his three suitcases Byeongkwan helped pack earlier that day. He’d be leaving, tomorrow, and Byeongkwan recalls how the two of them had walked from his house to Byeongkwan’s, Junhee wanting to say goodbye to his mom for the last time. She’d held Junhee’s face in her hands, leaned up and gave him two kisses on both his cheeks. He remembers whining at how they needed to go out when Byeongkwan’s mom had sat the two of them down and offered to make food, he remembers the way she’d held Junhee’s hands with tears in her eyes. Even his dad had come down from his study, glasses sat on the tip of his nose, and smacked Junhee lightly on the back of his head and wished him luck. The older boy had just smiled wide, thanked Byeongkwan’s mom earnestly, bowed towards his dad. 

They had planned to take their bikes, their old ones, out around the field for the last time. The gears were too rusty and broken up to do so, so they just walked- side by side- down the paths the two of them had known so well, and paused by the kissing fence. Junhee had sighed loudly then, the only time of the whole of today he’d let some sense of nostalgia overcome his features. Secretly, Byeongkwan had hoped he would cry- but he didn’t, he just sighed loudly and climbed over the fence for the last time. They had just sat there, in silence, among the swinging wheat and not said anything.

They had walked after that, walked around the stupid little town with its roads Byeongkwan didn’t need a map to read. Junhee waved to the baker, to the street vendor, visited the ice cream place and the cafe they had worn the seats of over so many years. He remembers the first time the two of them had visited these places, small childish hands clenching fistfuls of spare change to buy milkshakes and feel like adults. 

Now, with the night looming over them, they leaned against the wall and were in silence, yet again. Byeongkwan was tempted to recount his memories to Junhee, to paint each moment out and gauge his reaction to each one, memorise each expression into his mind like he had always done. 

Junhee drops his cigarette on the floor, crushes it with the heel of his sneaker. He leans back into the wall and sighs deeply, like he’s inhaling the smoky air for the last time. The expression on his face is peaceful, rounded with the food from the parties that have been hosted for the seniors leaving. He remembers how Junhee had asked him to the prom, with shy eyes and teeth biting down on his bottom lip. Byeongkwan had sniggered to get rid of the moment, the strange tenderness in Junhee’s eyes. Junhee had looked away then, down at the textbook in his lap, as if he were trying to hide.

He’d taken Euna, after that. Byeongkwan didn’t go, instead photographing the two of them posing together. They looked happy- Junhee in the same suit his dad had worn years ago- Euna’s dress falling in folds around her feet and dragging behind her as she walked. She’d put in extensions, and they crowned her in raven. Byeongkwan was taken aback by the two of them, how good they looked together. It left a lump in his throat, which he had attributed to his small not-so-discreet crush on Euna.

“I can’t wait to get out of here,” Junhee says, suddenly.

Byeongkwan’s mouth feels a little too dry, but he just licks his lips and turns towards Junhee. The older boy has his eyes closed, a blank expression on his face.

“Why? Won’t you miss me?” Byeongkwan teases, nudging Junhee playfully.

“You’re the only good thing about this town,” Junhee laughs, opening his eyes and turning towards Byeongkwan.

He feels laid a little bare then, the way Junhee is looking at him with an insurmountable level of gentleness in gaze, the softness in his voice as he speaks. Byeongkwan turns his head so he faces out, towards the battered fence in front of him, but he can see Junhee in the corner of his eye. His face is carefully vacant, but his eyes are seemingly glazed over. It’s the closest Byeongkwan has seen him to tears, and suddenly, the thought of Junhee crying seems terrifying. 

“You’re the only thing I’ll miss,” Junhee whispers, his mouth too close to Byeongkwan’s ear, breath fluttering over his cheek.

“Thing,” Byeongkwan repeats, trying to change the mood.

He turns to Junhee then, in an attempt to coax laughter out of him. Instead, Junhee looks at him simply again- features perfectly neutral apart from the small smile he’s deliberately put on. His eyes flitter between Byeongkwan’s eyes, seemingly searching for answers, for questions that Byeongkwan didn’t say. His eyes fall then, to Byeongkwan’s lips, and immediately find their way back up. 

“You’re more handsome now,” Junhee says, smile broadening on his face.

“Oh, really?” Byeongkwan says, rolling his eyes.

“Really,” Junhee laughs. “You have nice eyes,” 

Junhee reaches up and touches the corner of Byeongkwan’s eye with his finger, and Byeongkwan’s breath catches a little in his throat. The contact feels weird, Junhee’s warm hand against his cold face, the soft skin against his eyelid. He’s soft, irritatingly so, even as he slides his finger across the span of Byeongkwan’s face.

“And a jawline,” He comments, placing his hand along Byeongkwan’s jaw. Byeongkwan swallows thickly, only watching Junhee as he moves his hand from place to place. 

“Your arms, and your hands,” Junhee places a hand over Byeongkwan’s, his hand stupidly small next to the younger boy.

“Your-” Junhee begins, lifting his hand to Byeongkwan’s face, but Byeongkwan catches his wrist with his hand, and pulls it down to his side. Junhee is still smiling, stupid, wide, playful. Byeongkwan wants to hit him, to push him away.

They look at each other for a moment, before Junhee moves forward- closes the distance between two of them in a kiss. It’s sudden and not sudden at the same time, it’s weird and wrong and Junhee’s mouth tastes of ash and his breath smells of smoke. He’s warm against Byeongkwan, body pressing against the younger boy, wrist still held in a tight grip. Byeongkwan doesn’t move, can’t move, it feels like his legs are jelly and his blood has ran to ice in his veins. He feels Junhee’s fingers curl, fingers wrap against the outside of his fist. 

Junhee moves. He tries to get closer, more insistent, but Byeongkwan turns his head away- takes a step back. His heart is in his throat, blood thrumming through his body, pulse in his ears. It feels wrong, everything feels wrong all of a sudden, like the inside of his skin is dirty. Junhee just looks at him, blinking slowly, like his eyelashes are weighing his eyelids down. He stays perfectly still, and they look at each other.

“I love you,” Junhee says. 

_ I love you, _ are the words Byeongkwan says to his crushes, to the girls whose thighs he runs his hands up and whose mouths he kisses. He says it to his grandma, to his teacher who gave him 100% on his pop quiz. He says it when he tilts his girlfriend’s head back, when he kisses her and traces her cheekbones. He doesn’t say it to Junhee, has never said it to Junhee- and he doesn’t know what it means. He doesn’t know if Junhee wants to say it to him before he leaves, as a goodbye, or if he wants to imprint the taste of Byeongkwan’s mouth into his mind.

“I don’t like boys,” Byeongkwan says, shutting out the thought like a snuffed candle.

There’s a few seconds of silence. They seem to go on forever, stretching out endlessly, like it would never end. Junhee just blinks infuriatingly at him, face still vacant of any other emotion than his glazed eyes which catch the light from the red exit light flickering above their heads. 

Byeongkwan wishes Junhee hadn’t kissed him. He wishes that Junhee hadn’t kissed him, or called him handsome, or asked him to prom, he wishes that his mom hadn’t kissed both of his cheeks and his dad hadn’t said goodbye with a bittersweet smile. He wishes that Junhee wasn’t leaving, that Junhee didn’t have to go to university in Seoul, that they never reached this moment in the first place, never got to this second where Junhee had kissed him and they were left wordless.

He wishes so much, too much, too many things that he can’t change and can’t reverse and can’t question. Junhee sees it, and his expression softens immediately, lips parting and taking steps closer to Byeongkwan, grabbing his shoulder and taking the back of his hand to wipe his tears away. Byeongkwan struggles against it for a moment, trying to turn away again, but Junhee holds him in place and pats away his tears with his hand. Eventually, he crumples- falls into Junhee’s shoulder and begins to cry. He grasps at Junhee’s shirt and sobs.

“I’m sorry,” Junhee mumbles. He runs a hand through Byeongkwan’s hair.

Byeongkwan doesn’t say anything, tears coming to an eventual stop, head just buried into his best friend’s shoulder. His best friend who kissed him and who he won’t see for another year. His fist clenches, grip on Junhee’s shirt tightening. 

“Don’t apologise,” He says, finally. 

Junhee does anyway, again and again, until Byeongkwan pulls away and punches his chest lightly. He pretends to wince in pain, grappling at his chest like he’s dying, and Byeongkwan laughs- wiping away the remnants of tears on his face with the back of his hand. They return to the inside of the restaurant, leaving a generous tip before returning back home.

-

It’s early the next morning when Byeongkwan comes to Junhee’s house. His dad’s car is already parked out front, his sisters sprawled in the front yard with their phones held above their heads. Junhee is loading the car with bags and boxes- his sister’s suitcases and his belongings too. The whole family is going to Seoul on the same train, and Byeongkwan watches Mr Park’s bittersweet expression as he watches Junhee run back into the house for his phone charger. 

He spots Byeongkwan approaching, and gives him a polite wave. Byeongkwan bows back, and walks faster to approach the car. Despite it being so early in the morning, the weather is hot, and all of the Parks are clothed in thin t-shirts and shorts. Byeongkwan feels strange in his jeans, but he doesn’t say anything. He spots Euna and Rayoon by the car, both chatting animatedly. He approaches the two of them and gives Rayoon a curt nod, and Euna a hug. The two of them are probably leaving in a few days, too, off to university.

Junhee runs back out, and unzips his suitcase to place his charger inside a pocket. Byeongkwan watches him as he counts on his fingers everything he needs to take. 

Moments later, he turns around and exclaims that he’s ready. A chorus of “finally” comes from his sisters, who rise to their feet and dust off their grass stained legs. Junhee takes Euna, Rayoon and Byeongkwan away from the car where his sisters are entering to say goodbye.

First of all, Euna throws herself onto Junhee. He just laughs, swinging on the heels of his feet as he embraces her, gently patting her back. Byeongkwan thinks he’s momentarily mistaken as she pulls away with tears in her eyes, because he’s only seen Euna cry once before. Rayoon also hugs Junhee while Euna tearfully explains to Junhee that she’ll execute him if they don’t meet up during the holidays. They all laugh, and then it comes Byeongkwan’s turn.

He hugs Junhee. It isn’t awkward, and he’s already cried the tears he needed to yesterday night. Junhee smacks his back, hard, and Byeongkwan pulls away with a wince and a half-smile written across his face, which Junhee returns instinctively, without a thought.

A honk from the car rips through the scene, and they all turn to an apologetic Mr Park who makes a signal at his wrist, for the time.

Junhee says goodbye one last time, wraps his arms around the three of them before leaving. He turns while he walks, while he opens the door, and waves at them. They all stand together in a clump, watching as the car full of Parks leaves within a few seconds, car shaking under the weight of four university student’s luggage. 

They all stand there, and watch Junhee’s car leave, move down the road and eventually disappear into the distance. Still, they stand in silence.


	5. seventeen years old

There’s a certain form of anxiety that blooms in the centre of Byeongkwan’s chest as he sees Park Junhee’s dad for the first time in a while. They’ve ran into each other at petrol stations, at the mall, usually when Byeongkwan himself is surrounded by his new gaggle of friends who whisper and giggle at Junhee’s dad who asks Byeongkwan to come around for a cup of juice and to catch up. He looks tired, nowadays, living in the house alone with all his children living their own lives in Seoul. Byeongkwan could never turn him down, but he could never say yes either- especially not in front of his friends who think the epitome of being cool was getting high in a basement and jeans ripped to the ankle. He just smiles at Mr Park, refuses to acknowledge how the shape of his eyes and fall of his cheekbone isn’t dissimilar to Junhee’s. 

Now, though, he’s arrived early- clutching a cup of apple juice in between his two hands. The glass is sweating, coated with a thick layer of condensation by it coming straight out of the fridge. Byeongkwan takes small sips from the drink and eyes Mr Park nervously, looks at him pacing the space in front of the sofa and checking his phone. Suddenly, the sound of a new message fills the silence and the older man pauses in his footsteps, smiling softly at his phone.

“Junhee says he’s going to arrive in 20 minutes,” He states, and spares a glance towards Byeongkwan. “Should we go now?”

Byeongkwan nods eagerly, setting down the cup onto the glass coffee table- allowing the condensation to pool. Mr Park doesn’t seem to care, ruffles Byeongkwan’s hair as the boy rises to his feet and progresses outside into the car. 

The drive is short, and they arrive and are out of the car, waiting beside the exit of the train station, with more than enough time to spare before Junhee’s train arrives. The summer is cool this year, chilly breezes filtering their way through the town and beneath loose t-shirts and shorts. Byeongkwan shivers now, pulling his hoodie tighter around him, hands buried deep into his pockets, as his eyes remain focused on the exit of the station.

He wonders if Junhee will be the same. They only texted a few times throughout the year, the awkwardness from the kiss before lingering in all of their interactions afterwards. He had asked about Byeongkwan’s friends, about his girlfriends, about Byeongkwan’s parents and his own dad. Byeongkwan had informed him about everything in detail that he was surprised he could provide, but when Junhee had asked about himself- voice soft and tired and slightly deeper than before- Byeongkwan had brushed it off with half a laugh and an  _ I’m fine _ . 

It was fine, everything was fine. He was growing up, he had his own friends now and a girlfriend who was taller than him by a few centimeters but who wilted underneath his touch like a dying flower. It scared Byeongkwan sometimes, but his friends commentary on how lucky he was to have her as his girlfriend spurred him on to lose his virginity with half a joint in his mouth in her basement on a sofa with torn leather. It felt weird, to be touching her, to be congratulated by his friends as if he’d achieved something, to be noticed in the hallways of their school and to be whispered about. In Byeongkwan’s mind, those things were still only for Junhee and Euna and Rayoon- to be talked and wondered about.

There’s always a punchline, and Junhee was always it. Even here, now, as Byeongkwan’s suspicions are confirmed by his arrival, dragging a suitcase behind him. The colours of the sky behind him paint his complexion bronze, bring out the gold of his hair. He seems taller, if its possible, and his eyes scan the parking lot in front of him- exhaustion playing across all of his features. When he spots his dad’s eager hands waving for him, though, Junhee springs forward with a new life in his step, and practically launches himself into his dad’s arms. Mr Park welcomes this, chuckling with a deep bass in his voice and patting Junhee’s back lightly.

Junhee turns, out of his dad’s arms, to face Byeongkwan. His entire face splits into a smile before he pulls the younger boy close to him, Byeongkwan’s chin colliding with his shoulder and knocking the breath out of him. He rocks on his heels a little bit, and then pulls away. They’re close, so close that Byeongkwan can see the dark circles on Junhee’s face, the acne scars littered across his right cheek. They both look into each other’s eyes, briefly, only for a split second before the moment ends with Mr Park’s hands heavy on both their shoulders.

They return to Junhee’s house, and Byeongkwan helps take Junhee’s suitcases up the stairs into his room. He hasn’t been for nearly a year, but the room remains the same- not even coated in dust presumably because of Mr Park’s frequent sweeping. It’s different from how it was when the two of them were children- the wallpaper faded on the walls, bookshelf empty, clothes neatly folded in a small stack in an open wardrobe. The bedsheets are plain white, tucked neatly as if a hospital bed.

As they arrive in the room, Junhee collapses face first into the bed, then choosing to pull the pillow he’s leaning on closer to his face. Byeongkwan laughs at him and simply leans the suitcase against Junhee’s desk. He looks at the older boy for a few moments before pulling out the chair and taking a seat.

“How was your train?” He asks.

“Uncomfortable.” 

Byeongkwan swallows back the spit in his mouth, eyes still focused on Junhee’s slumped figure but also glazed over, just slightly, at how unreachable he appears to be even when he’s just laying across his own bed. A bed that Byeongkwan has slept in before, has spilled juice on, has jumped on when they were younger. He smiles bitterly.

Not soon after, he hears faint snores begin to fill the silence. Junhee snores only when he’s tired past simple exhaustion, and Byeongkwan can also hear it in the rattle of his breathing that echoes through his lungs. However, he sits there still- silent- just watching the older boy’s chest rise and fall, pillow clutched close to him as if it would provide some comfort. It’s strangely endearing, and comforting, to just be surrounded by Junhee again- as if nothing had even changed in the first place.

His inner monologue is interrupted by Mr Park coming to the door with a tray ornamented by several bowls of snacks and a carton of juice. He smiles sympathetically at Byeongkwan when he spots Junhee’s sleeping figure, and proceeds to set down the tray on the desk. He makes his way slowly over to his son, and adjusts the blankets around him so Junhee is able to slip beneath. He presses a small kiss into his son’s bleached hair, and makes a hand signal for Byeongkwan to follow him downstairs.

“I’m so sorry, Byeongkwan,” Mr Park apologises, as they descend the cramped staircase together. “He must be really tired, I know he was excited to see you.”

“Of course,” Byeongkwan chuckles.

They reach the bottom of the staircase, and Junhee’s dad tilts his head at Byeongkwan. He’s much taller than both Junhee and Byeongkwan, his face giving way to signs of age accompanied by his greying hairs. He looks like the opposite of Byeongkwan’s dad- someone who’s stern and cold- and even just looking at him makes Byeongkwan realise how Junhee turned out the way he did. 

“You can always come back tomorrow,” He says gently.

“I think I’ll text Jun,” Byeongkwan replies. “And see what he says.”

“It’s not as if he could ever say no to you,” Junhee’s dad says, fondly. 

Byeongkwan doesn’t know how to reply to that, so he just smiles, and shrugs his hoodie back onto his shoulders. This gives him flashbacks to memories of late nights at Junhee’s house in the summer, having to pedal home on his cycle in the darkness. The thought makes an unidentifiable feeling rise in his throat, so much so that he has to duck his head to leave the house without being interrogated by Junhee’s dad.

He goes back home, back to his house with all of his lights off and his mom sitting blankly at the tv, and he goes into his room and he sits. Nothing has changed over the past year, but everything has at the same time. It feels like someone else, not Byeongkwan, has come and slept in his bed and lived his life for so long, lived his life for this past year. Maybe it’s just because he realises, now, sitting amongst his own bed sheets, that Junhee is a big part of his life. An even bigger part than Byeongkwan gave him credit for- past the stabbing feeling in his chest he had for two weeks after Junhee left for Seoul. 

From there, Byeongkwan hugs his pillow close to him and goes to sleep. 

The next day, he had offered to take Junhee on a drive. Since Junhee had left for Seoul, a lot of things had changed- Byeongkwan’s driving license, for one, which he utilised now by honking outside of Junhee’s house and proceeding to take him down the old streets of their town, down the highway and pulling off a corner that was shrouded by trees and uprooted by weeds, to start the conversation of what had been happening over the past year.

Junhee’s arm is slumped against the car door, eyes aimed forwards into the empty parking lot. He’s different now, almost seems like an entirely different person. His skin is tan, evidently browned from the sun- his exposed arms patterned with sun freckles, hitched up cuff of his jeans exposing pale skin beneath his trousers. The way Junhee dresses, now, is different too; he looks like what an idol should look like- freshly dyed hair, expensive street fashion clothes made in pastel colours.. He’s slimmer, face less rounded, less childlike, but his arms were muscular now- legs, too. He seems like someone who shouldn’t belong in this type of town and, he doesn’t really, not anymore.

Byeongkwan had joined the Christmas theatre production- met a group of funny people he went to fast food chains with after rehearsals to practise scripts. He’d got his own car, had a girlfriend, gotten drunk for the first time in his friend’s basement and subsequently lost his virginity. He’d smoked his first cigarette and threw it away, he’d gotten a small tattoo of his own constellation on his lower back that snaked across his spine (Junhee traces it, lightly, when Byeongkwan hitches his shirt up- and his touch is ice cold). He’d gotten into a fistfight at a cafeteria, smoked a joint and freaked out when he thought he heard police sirens. 

All of this he recounts to Junhee, who claps his hands and giggles at the parts that are supposed to make him laugh, pouts at the bits that aren’t. It feels good, weirdly refreshing, to be around Junhee again. The feeling had struck him during the year, a stabbing pain right in the centre of his chest after he had clambered home alone- Junhee on his way to Seoul already. Some of that childish fear, uncertainty, had been lifted after Byeongkwan had found his own group of friends, but the ache was completely dulled now with the older boy’s presence next to him. 

There’s beer cans on the floor of the car, in the back. Byeongkwan is careful to only nurse a thermos of coffee while Junhee crumples his third can in the palm of his hand. He’s lighter, now, his actions more open and carefree, face more expressive, tips of his ears pink from the alcohol. Byeongkwan laughs with him, at his slurred words and stupid jokes, and feels something blossom in the centre of his chest.

The mood calms after that, doesn’t flatline but remains at a steady pulse that fills the air around the two boys with thoughts and feelings that can’t be put into words. 

“Aren’t you counting down to the day you get out of here?” Junhee laughs.

“I dunno,” Byeongkwan says earnestly, scratching the back of his head. “I think I like it here.”

“Here? Out of everywhere?” Junhee sighs, looking out the window.

“It’s home,” Byeongkwan shrugs.

Junhee turns to him then. He seems to be lost in thought, mind wandering around a singular point as he narrows his eyes at Byeongkwan. He’s wearing makeup, Byeongkwan notes, noticing the powder on his cheeks, the brightness beneath his eyes. It’s still Junhee under there, though, and the older boy looks at him with a thoughtful expression, tongue peeking out from between his lips.

“Anywhere can be home,” Junhee says, finally. 

Byeongkwan doesn’t reply, just thinks about the sentiment. But, still, even after thinking about it, he doesn’t think that anywhere could hold the same significance to him as here- as this small town with all it’s roads Byeongkwan has memorised and whose bakers yell hello to him in the morning. He doesn’t think he could be like Junhee, with his stories of best friends and university parties. This place is good enough to him.

“I guess,” Byeongkwan says, succumbing to Junhee even if he disagrees.

“You have to leave the nest sometime,” Junhee says playfully, pulling his arms closer to him and flapping his hands. “Byeong-birdie has to fly sometime.” 

“Byeong-birdie,” Byeongkwan repeats, glancing out the window with a smile across his face. “You’re not funny, you know that? You really haven’t changed at all, hyung.”

“Hey! At least I don’t drink myself into a coma with 1,000won beer cans from the convenience store. Don’t look away Byeongkwan, I can read you like a book.”

“You caught me, all I do is sit here and drink beer.”

They laugh a little between themselves, the conversation coming to a natural stop. The both of them let the silence sit, comfortable. While it’s amicable, there’s something else dangling there, something else neither of them want to reach for or break the barrier of but still lingers like a bad cold. Junhee senses it, apparently, and changes the subject quickly.

“Where do you wanna go to college?” Junhee asks.

“Uh,” Byeongkwan pauses, then speaks with a question in his voice. “Seoul?”

Junhee gasps dramatically, and places a hand on his chest. A smile forms across his features, and he looks faux-sweetly at Byeongkwan.

“For me?”

What Byeongkwan really wants to say, looking at Junhee in the dim light of his car, is maybe. Maybe it's for Junhee, college in Seoul, maybe just a little bit. Maybe just so Byeongkwan can see him every day again, so they can fall together like puzzle pieces and step in time like they did for so many years apart from this one. Partially, only slightly, because of the way Junhee makes Byeongkwan feel like he can breathe again, like he can finally exhale after holding in a breath for so long. Maybe it’s more because he wants to get out of this town, with it’s cheap beer cans which are crushed in the back of Byeongkwan’s car, it’s irritating teenagers, his friends, who never seem to have any other motive apart from drugs and girls. It drives him insane, sometimes.

“You wish,” Byeongkwan smiles. “Seoul probably has way better dance majors than whatever this place could give me.” 


	6. eighteen years old

The train ride to Seoul is a blur. Maybe it’s because Byeongkwan woke up a total of five minutes before Junhee, and a total fifteen minutes before their train. Maybe it’s because they went out for drinks the night before, the autumn air cool and almost piercing, Junhee’s eyes lit in the streetlights. Maybe it’s because the moment they board the train, cramming into seats next to each other with luggage at their feet, they both fall asleep.

Junhee wakes up first this time, and nudges Byeongkwan to do the same. Around him, as he opens his eyes, are people moving- their feet loud against the train floor, duffel bags swinging past him. In the dim light of the train, Byeongkwan casts a glance up towards a sign that reads the station in neon yellow computer font. He looks towards Junhee, to his right, and the other man has his features scrunched- arms stretched above his head in a yawn.

“How long did we sleep?” Byeongkwan asks.

“Mmm,” Junhee hums thoughtfully, arms falling to his side. “Three hours, maybe?” 

It’s already dark outside. Early autumn came with shorter, colder days, and it was evident in the sunless sky and business men holding their stark black umbrellas over their heads. Even the air, cool, coming through the open cabin doors, seems different than back home. The people in suits and in sweaters bustle past, their suitcases rattling as they go along, Junhee rising to join them. Byeongkwan copies, and his legs feel like jelly beneath him. 

“Donghun’s waiting outside,” Junhee mumbles, tired, blinking at the blue screen of his phone that lights up in front of him.

“Okay.”

Donghun is Junhee’s roommate. Byeongkwan has a sneaking suspicion they’re a little more than that, because of the picture in Junhee’s wallet and the contact name he has set for the older man. He doesn’t dare question their relationship though, and he doesn’t say anything as they file into line behind a gaggle of exhausted commuters.

As soon as they exit, Byeongkwan’s eyes are drawn to a man with red hair close to the barrier of the station. He’s leaning against a pole, and has his cheeks blown out as he glances down at his phone. His hair, however bright, is pushed back behind a snapback, and he’s cloaked in a too-big leather jacket and jeans. He’s dressed like some sort of idol, and as Byeongkwan glances around he notices most other people are too.

Suddenly, he feels underdressed.

“Donghun!” Junhee calls, and when Byeongkwan looks up he notices Junhee’s wave.

Ah. Right.

The man tucks his phone into his pocket, and smiles towards Junhee. He raises a hand in acknowledgement, and watches as Junhee comes towards him and engulfs him in a hug. The two of them swing on their heels for a second, Donghun chuckling as he pats Junhee’s back lightly. When they separate, Junhee takes Donghun’s hand in his own.

So, Byeongkwan was right. 

He presses his lips into a thin line as Donghun greets him, bowing his head slightly, hand still wrapped around Junhee’s. He lets go, and makes a grab for Byeongkwan’s duffel bag. 

“Here, I can take it.”

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” Byeongkwan laughs nervously, scratching at the back of his neck, fist clenched tighter around the strap of his bag. “Take Junhee’s, he’s tired.”

Junhee leans on Donghun’s shoulder and smiles. He looks bright in the streetlights shining above their heads, and relents when Donghun takes his bag. Donghun mutters something about taking the subway back to their place, and Byeongkwan only nods, desperate to get away from the crowd of people pushing past him with dirty looks.

They only spend a few minutes outside of the station, Junhee’s hand linked again with Donghun’s, before they find their way into a subway station. Byeongkwan’s card still works in Seoul, so they progress through without any problems, swiping their cards before boarding an hour long train to the other side of Seoul. 

It’s small, narrow, and the seats are all taken. It’s more cramped in there than it was in the subway station. It smells of body odor and cheap cologne, the walls all painted with advertisements. The three of them all stand, holding onto the handrails dotted around the subway. Byeongkwan eyes the two older men as Junhee leans onto Donghun’s chest, Donghun seemingly unaffected by the sudden weight.

Byeongkwan looks outside, watches the underground speed by them. The subway is filled with sleepy mumblings and phone calls, the clicking of keyboards and the plucking of guitar strings. At one point, Junhee leans up to speak to Donghun and the two of them laugh softly about something Byeongkwan is too far away to listen to. So, he carries on looking outside- trying to ignore his face in the reflection of the glass. He’s taken the subway before, back home, but the constant pauses and people cramming on to every stop is different. He swears he’s never seen so many people before all at once.

They exit not so soon after, and Byeongkwan is grateful for the breath of fresh air and lack of people on the platform as they leave. Donghun and Junhee seem to know where they’re going, Junhee’s suitcase lugging behind him with a rattle, so Byeongkwan follows, hot on their heels.

“Do you wanna go out tonight?” Donghun asks, turning to Junhee.

“I don’t know,” Junhee says, sing-song. “We could always order takeaway. We need Byeongkwan to try the chicken place.”

They both turn to Byeongkwan while they walk.

“I don’t mind,” He shrugs.

“We could wait for Sehyoon, then go out,” Junhee suggests. “Is he back yet?”

“Yeah, he came back a couple of days ago. There’s a good place for drinks near here, you know the-”

Around this point, Byeongkwan zones out, their conversation idle chatter in his ears.

When they arrive at their complex, Byeongkwan notes the mould on the walls and the broken up Christmas tree in the lobby. Junhee and Donghun pay no mind, instead opting towards the staircase to take them up to their floor. Byeongkwan spares a longing glance towards the elevator and it’s out-of-order sign before mournfully following.

Their apartment is a lot cosier. The room is bathed in dim, orange light as they make their way inside, but Donghun reaches behind him and turns it up, just a little, so the shadows of their furniture are more noticeable.There’s a worn sofa and a few beanbags scattered around, and a coffee table littered with empty wrappers from fast food restaurants. Junhee only chuckles at that as he enters, lifting them off the table and making his way into their kitchen to throw them in the trash. 

Donghun flops onto the sofa, covering his eyes with one of his arms. Byeongkwan pauses awkwardly in the doorway, still clutching onto the handle of his duffel bag.

“Ah, sorry,” Donghun says, half-hearted, exhaustion clear in his voice, lowering his arm from his eyes. “Junhee’s room is yours, I think. He’ll just sleep with me.”

“He doesn’t have to-” Byeongkwan begins to say, but is interrupted by the entrance of Junhee himself, dusting off crumbs from his hands using his stonewash jeans.

“It’s okay, Byeongkwan,” he laughs. “I’ve slept with him before.”

Donghun chokes a little on his drink, but Junhee doesn’t mention it. He only makes a vague motion with his hand for Byeongkwan to follow him down the short corridor to the second door, which gives way to his bedroom.

It’s eerily reminiscent to his old one. The posters he had before have been replaced with full calendars, shelves full of potted plants and old dvds. A polaroid camera sits on one of them, neglected. The sheets are plain and neatly made, a desk tucked into the spare corner of the room, covered in diagrams and notes and a laptop.

When Byeongkwan turns back to face Junhee, to make some sort of comment, he’s on his phone, tapping away. At Byeongkwan’s stare, Junhee looks up with a smile.

“Sehyoon’s coming soon, and I know you’re tired. So you can sleep here, while we wait,” he says, smiling.

“Sure,” Byeongkwan affirms with a nod.

Junhee exits, letting the door shut behind him. As soon as Byeongkwan sits on his bed, he hears faint laughter from the other room over, Donghun’s low chuckle coming through the thin walls. He tries to ignore his underlying bitterness, and lets himself lay down.

He’s not jealous of Donghun.  _ You shouldn’t be jealous of the attention someone gives their boyfriend versus their best friend,  _ Byeongkwan reasons with himself. Still, even as the laughter dies out, he feels sad that even here-next to Junhee- he’s still living his life, and Byeongkwan is just on the outskirts.

-

“You alright?” Donghun asks, setting down a glass in front of Byeongkwan, disrupting his zoned out gaze.

Byeongkwan presses his lips into a smile and nods slightly at the older man before redirecting his stare towards Junhee. He’s dancing in the middle of the floor, arms up, caught in the blue and pink lights of the club they’re in. Sehyoon is out there with him, laughing at whatever Junhee is doing with a wide smile across his face. They’re both drunk, and Junhee almost collapses into Sehyoon’s arms after he spins around on his heel. Byeongkwan holds a smile, and blinks back the drunken haze covering his vision.

“You don’t look good,” Donghun remarks, sipping on his soda, eyeing Byeongkwan suspiciously.

“I’m drunk.” Byeongkwan states, sharp, turning to face Donghun.

Donghun’s lips spread into a smile around his straw, plastic in between his teeth.

“I guessed,” Donghun says, soft.

Everything about being there is tiring. Donghun’s gentle look and Sehyoon and Junhee rubbing up against each other in the middle of the club and the headache that’s pounding in Byeongkwan’s temples. He’s been in Seoul for all of six hours, and he already wants to go back home. 

When he looks towards Junhee and Sehyoon, they’re really going at it. They’re pressed against each other in the maze of people, arms up, laughing, chest to chest. He looks at Donghun, and sees no hint of any change of expression apart from his intent gaze on Byeongkwan and his lips pursed around the straw.

“Are you not,” Byeongkwan swallows back a hiccup. “Jealous?”

Donghun looks at him quizzically, and removes his mouth from the soda. 

“Of what?”

Byeongkwan glances towards the two men again, Sehyoon having fallen flat on his ass and Junhee struggling for breath between laughter. He looks at Donghun, and cocks his head towards the dance floor.

“What are you saying?” Donghun laughs, breathless, coming out as more of an exhale.

“I’m saying,” Byeongkwan yells, too loud even with the din of the club around them. “Aren’t you jealous your boyfriend is dancing with someone else?”

Byeongkwan hoped that would clear up any confusion, but Donghun just looks more puzzled.

“My boyfriend?” 

Oh.

“Junhee..?” Byeongkwan offers, words dying in his throat. 

Donghun chokes a little on his laughter, and leans down to sip at his straw again, eyes now turned towards Sehyoon and Junhee.

“I wish.”

Oh.  _ Oh. _

“Oh,” Byeongkwan says, mouth suddenly feeling dry. “Have you-”

Donghun looks towards him, eyebrows raised, smirking.

“Have you. Told him?” His voice breaks mid-sentence, but he swallows it back with a hiccup.

“No,” Donghun says, still smiling. “He’s in love with someone else, anyways.”

_ Ouch _ , Byeongkwan feels like saying out loud. He doesn’t know why, but he feels a sudden sense of comfort towards Donghun, like he wants to take the older man into his arms and pat his head reassuringly. He seems unaffected, his eyes glinting in the bright lights of the club.

He wants to ask. 

Normally, something would hold him back. _ I don’t know, common sense maybe _ . But tonight, in this too-hot, too-loud, too-crowded club, Donghun looking expectantly at him with a small smile, it feels a lot more comforting to ask.

“Who?”

Donghun rolls his eyes.

“Who do you think?”

Byeongkwan’s mouth suddenly feels very, very dry.

The silence between them doesn’t sit for long, soon interrupted by the loud shattering of glass from a distant corner of the club. Donghun stands immediately, and Byeongkwan follows, eyes trailing towards the source of the sound, the source of the loud yelling that comes after.

Needless to say, it’s Sehyoon and Junhee. An entire shelf of glass is shattered behind him, the drinks tap still running, alcohol spilling over the floor. Sitting in that puddle, pushed to the floor, is Sehyoon- Junhee only a bystander to what had happened, hand clapped over his mouth. There’s silence all around, all the clubgoers’ eyes fixated on Sehyoon and the hand being waved in his face, presumably by the club owner.Byeongkwan can hear Donghun inhale sharply next to him.

Donghun rushes over, Byeongkwan following closely.

There’s a long bill, and an image of Sehyoon regretfully handing over his credit card while trying not to cry engraved into the back of Byeongkwan’s mind. Next to him, Junhee leans on his shoulder, crouching a little to reach his level, giggling and hiccuping at Sehyoon’s misfortune. Donghun stands, a little further away, rolling his lip in between his teeth, anxiously looking at the bartender put Sehyoon’s credit card into the machine.

“Are we banned?” Junhee says, quietly.

The club owner looks at him, fury in his eyes. Byeongkwan can feel Junhee physically cower beside him.

“What. Do. You. Think.”

They leave not so long after, Sehyoon being dragged along by Donghun, steam practically rolling off of him. Junhee walks beside Byeongkwan, the pavement only big enough for two people. Their hands are linked. Byeongkwan doesn’t know when it happened, but Junhee’s hands are small and warm in his own, and the patch of skin that Byeongkwan rubs his thumb over is soft, so he doesn’t mind. 

“I don’t wanna walk,” Sehyoon whines.

“Shut the fuck up,” Donghun says, bitter. “If you didn’t want to walk, maybe you shouldn’t have lost all your cash and your subway card in the pile of alcohol you were sitting in.”

“Why do  _ we  _ have to walk,” Junhee whispers under his breath.

Donghun spins on his heel, and pokes his finger into Junhee’s chest, still walking, but backwards.

“It’s your fault too,” He mumbles. “Don’t act innocent.”

Then he turns again.

It’s a long walk, and the air is too cold to be comfortable. The only warmth Byeongkwan is provided with is Donghun’s second jacket and Junhee’s arm pressed by his side, his fingers interlocked with his own. 

It should be fine. It should be normal, only Byeongkwan can’t stop thinking about what Donghun had told him.

He’s not an idiot. He knows Junhee had a crush on him, that Junhee kissed him right before he left for Seoul. He also thought he was not being an idiot when he’d assumed Junhee had moved on in the two years since. But, evidently not.

They arrive back, and tiredly tread their way up the stairs, careful not to wake any of Junhee and Donghun’s neighbours at 2am at night. It seems a lot further than it was this morning, Junhee and Sehyoon lugging behind, weighing them down, taking brief breaks on the stairs. At one point, Sehyoon even lays down in a coffin position, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed, and attempts to go sleep. 

It doesn’t go down well with Donghun. He takes Sehyoon by the ear, and drags him up the stairs, Sehyoon protesting with broken groans of pain. They don’t take another break after that.

Donghun unlocks the apartment and lets everyone in. Junhee immediately collapses on the sofa, and Sehyoon follows, body crashing on top of Junhee’s. Byeongkwan has to hold back a laugh as Junhee’s muffled yell of pain comes through the cushions. 

He watches as Donghun drags Sehyoon off of Junhee, landing with a thump on the floor. Byeongkwan winces at the sound, but Sehyoon is passed out- small snores escaping him, his mouth wide open.

“Should we…?” Byeongkwan starts.

“I don’t know.”

Byeongkwan tries not to laugh.

A couple more minutes of staring at Junhee and Sehyoon’s slumped figures pass, and Donghun resolves to take them both to his room.

“I’ll take the sofa,” He says, as he drags Sehyoon by his arms across the floor. “You can sleep in Junhee’s room.”

As much as he wants to, and the better person in him screams at him to, he can’t bear to protest. Junhee’s bed is soft, and the sofa is worn and has both Sehyoon and Junhee’s drunken drool over it’s patchy leather. 

While Donghun takes Sehyoon into his room, muttering small curses, Byeongkwan crouches beside Junhee.

“Hyung,” He whispers. “Wake up.”

Junhee sits up, a little, blinking sleepily. Byeongkwan gets to his feet beside him, looking at his mussed hair and imprints of leather red on his hands. He doesn’t know what overcomes him in that brief second, mainly concern, Byeongkwan thinks, but he takes Junhee’s hands into his own again, and runs his thumbs over his knuckles. Junhee rustles sleepily where he sits, and turns so his legs dangle off the sofa. 

“Byeongkwan.”

“Yes?” He replies, half a laugh in his voice, Junhee’s hands still gently placed in his own.

“‘M glad you’re, here.” Junhee says, shutting one eye and looking up at Byeongkwan with a tired expression.

“Me too.”

“I missed you,” Junhee says, softer. “A lot.”

Byeongkwan doesn’t reply.

“‘Ve done a lot of things, that I regret,” Junhee carries on. “‘N kissin’ you, was one of them. I didn’ wanna make you upset.”

Byeongkwan’s stills his hands.

“I love you, ‘n ‘m sorry I made you sad.”

“I love you too,” Byeongkwan whispers, heart in his throat.

“Not like I do,” Junhee mumbles, pouting tiredly, taking his hands out of Byeongkwan’s and rubbing at his eyes. Byeongkwan only watches.

“You don’ wanna kiss me. Or date me. ‘N it’s fine, but it makes me sad.”

Swallowing back his spit, Byeongkwan lets his hands drop to his sides. He looks down at the mop of messy hair beneath him. Something feels wrong, in his stomach and in his throat, in the centre of his chest. It feels like something’s tightening, something that’s would snap at any moment.

“I’ll take him.”

Byeongkwan turns, and Donghun stands there, looking him up and down. He doesn’t know how much he heard. He doesn’t want to know how much he heard. Donghun probably knows it all already.

He goes back to Junhee’s room. The light feeling, the feeling that maybe everything would be okay here, okay here in Seoul, had faded. It had been replaced by Junhee’s pouting face, by his hands rubbing at his eyes, by his slumped shoulders. It had all been replaced by his words, on replay in Byeongkwan’s mind like a broken tape. 

Donghun comes into Junhee’s room not so long after, shutting the door softly behind him. 

“Are you okay?”

He’s too nice. Some part of Byeongkwan wants to snap at him, but he can’t find it in his heart to even raise his voice a little. 

“Not really,” Byeongkwan confesses, hand at the nape of his neck again. He tries to avoid Donghun’s gaze, but the older man takes a seat at Junhee’s desk.

“You know,” Donghun says, gently. “You don’t have to pretend anymore.”

Byeongkwan looks up at Donghun. 

“There’s no identity to protect. There’s no-one here who’s gonna call you out for admitting you’re in love with your best friend.”

“What if I’m not?” Byeongkwan says, sharp. 

He feels immediately guilty at how Donghun’s shoulders straighten defensively, and he softens his tone. 

“What if I’m not in love with Junhee? What then?” 

Donghun licks his lips, and looks away from Byeongkwan to the posters on Junhee’s wall. He smiles a little, fondly. 

“I don’t know, Byeongkwan.”

Byeongkwan tries to ignore how it feels like every part of him is screaming at the top of it’s lungs for him to say something.

“I’m not gay.” He whispers.

“You don’t have to be.”

Silence.

“I’m not telling you that you have to love him. I’m just saying, there’s something fucked up with the way you two grew up. And I know you care for him a lot more than you’d admit.” 

Byeongkwan feels laid bare. 

Donghun rises to his feet, and ruffles Byeongkwan’s hair a little. He mumbles something about making hangover soup and getting enough sleep before he leaves. The door shutting behind him seems a lot louder than when he first came in.


	7. nineteen years old

“I got an offer to go to Japan.”

There isn’t much of a reaction, initially. The TV stays on, it’s volume low, words coming out hazy, blue light casting a strange glow over everything it touches. Sehyoon stays still, carding his fingers through Byeongkwan’s hair absently. Donghun stares at Junhee. Byeongkwan does the same. Junhee looks back, worried smile on his face, letter held in both hands and then gently placed onto the table. Sehyoon plucks it off with his free hand, holds it above his face and squints to read it.

“For how long?” Donghun asks.

“A year, maybe longer. It’s because of the sister school in Japan, and there’s an apprenticeship at this big vocal coaching place. They said I could be part of an idol launch project.”

Byeongkwan doesn’t say anything. He just stays still, trying to focus on Sehyoon’s hands in his hair and not the sudden overwhelming feeling that washes over him. A year. A whole year. Junhee would miss his birthday, and Byeongkwan’s too. He would miss Christmas, back home, and New Year’s, too.

“When do you have to say yes?” 

“A week.”

Donghun purses his lips a little, pressing his tongue against the back of his teeth. Junhee’s gaze on him is steady, and it feels too intimate to watch. Their gazing are piercing, like they’re peeling back layers, and Byeongkwan feels oddly exposed for someone not even engaging in the staredown. He notes how Donghun’s fists clench and unclench by his sides, and how his face remains emotionless.

“When did they tell you about it?” Sehyoon inquires, his voice deep in his chest and stirring Byeongkwan slightly. 

Junhee looks sheepish. He looks down at his open palms, plays with his fingers a little before turning to face Sehyoon.

“Last month.”

“Last month-” Byeongkwan begins, the words coming out of his throat before he can stop them. “Hyung.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Donghun says, soft, taking a small step forwards to lay a hand on Junhee’s shoulder.

It’s tense. Byeongkwan can sense that much. Even when Donghun is at his tenderest, when he’s angry everything comes out stuttering and strange. He can practically read it off of Donghun’s face, his eyes focused on Junhee. There’s only a few beats of silence before Junhee looks up, eyes meeting Donghun’s, and opens his mouth to say,

“Because I want to go. And I know you don’t want me to.”

“Junhee,” Donghun mumbles, some of the tension visibly draining from his shoulders.

“I don’t know, I just-” Junhee can only maintain eye contact with him for so long before he turns back to his hands, shrugging off Donghun’s touch from his shoulder. “I want to go do something. I’ll be back by next spring, I promise. I probably won’t get the offer to stay any longer, it’s just- I wanna try something new.”

Byeongkwan stays still in his seat. It feels like he’s listening in on a conversation he’s not supposed to be listening to. Even Sehyoon’s hands slow in his hair, coming to drop to his side instead. All of their eyes are trained on Junhee, and Junhee just looks down at his hands, turning them over like he could find something new in the same old skin and bone. 

“I think you should go,” Byeongkwan says, rising from where he’s sat.

They all turn to him, Donghun’s mouth slightly parted in shock. He makes his way towards Junhee, reaches up with the back of his hand to pat away Junhee’s brimming tears. Junhee looks up, and he drops his hand to his side again, offering the older man a small smile. It feels wrong to unclench it, even with Junhee’s soft eyes on him, his expression unreadable. 

“We’ll all be here next year,” He states, light, airy, or at least attempting to be. “You should go, hyung. Go- be an idol, or whatever.”

Junhee looks happy, at that. He’s wearing a small grin, lips pressed slightly together. His black hair falls a little into his face, and his eyes shine in the light overhead. He pulls the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands, and smiles genuinely at Byeongkwan.

Junhee takes a step forward and pulls him into a hug. 

“Thank you,” He whispers.

Sehyoon gets up not a second too late, and joins them, murmuring something about following your dreams. Donghun watches from outside, briefly, eyes scanning over the huddle of bodies before meeting Byeongkwan’s gaze. He gives the older man a small nod, and that’s all it takes for Donghun to swallow back what he was going to say with a smile and come to embrace Junhee.

“We need to throw you a leaving party,” Byeongkwan suggests, voice coming out muffled from beneath two people’s bodies. “We’ll invite everyone.”

“No more parties!” Donghun protests, pulling away suddenly and raising a finger. “I still haven’t forgotten what happened when we all went out last time, okay?”

Junhee giggles and claps at the reminder.

“We need some people, hyung,” Byeongkwan begs, moving forwards to clasp his hands around Donghun’s.

Donghun sighs, loudly, and looks towards Junhee who’s wearing a similar, sad-puppy expression. He bites his lip before he looks back down at Byeongkwan who’s practically kneeling at his feet, and pulls his hands away, exhaling loudly.

“Fine.”

They all cheer, and Donghun stalks off to his bedroom, hand ruffling at the hairs on the back of his neck.

Junhee turns to Byeongkwan and hugs him again. It comes as a surprise, the sudden weight of Junhee’s body against his own, but he chuckles and pats his back lightly. His sweater is scratchy against Byeongkwan’s bare skin, but he’s warm and soft and rocking a little bit on his heels so Byeongkwan doesn’t say anything, lets Junhee hug him in the middle of his living room while Sehyoon watches with a quirked eyebrow. 

He sticks his tongue out, and Sehyoon returns to the tv, winding up the volume.

-

The party ends up happening on a fraternity on Junhee’s campus. He has some close friends who offered to pull some strings, and it ended up happening under the guise of his birthday. He wears a birthday hat the entire time from the second he walks in, and ends up getting approached by a lot of drunk college students who wish him a good one.

Byeongkwan doesn’t really like parties. He only offered because he knows Junhee does, knows Junhee likes the alcohol and the people and the dancing with strangers. He’s leaving, so Byeongkwan supposes he should celebrate somehow.

The fraternity is larger than most. It has a back porch with marbled floors and railings that Byeongkwan sits on. He sips on a cocktail he got given by what he assumes was a college student on some kind of acid trip, and breathes in the air outside. Through the double glass doors he can see people inside the room dancing, can hear the sound of BigBang playing bass boosted through the walls. He can only imagine Junhee getting to his feet to provide a drunken rendition of the dance.

Sehyoon comes out a little while later, his skin soaked in a sheen of sweat, t-shirt sticking to his chest. His hair, previously out and hanging in his eyes, has been brushed back into a neat manbun which sits atop his head. He comes over to Byeongkwan and joins him on the railing.

There’s a mile of grass outwards from the porch, ending in a cluster of trees. Byeongkwan can only wonder what it feels like to be able to pull strings and go to a private college like this one. From what he’s heard, most of the people here are children of important officials in every field, which makes the plentiful drugs, alcohol and even a couple strippers that much harder to understand.

“Too much?” Byeongkwan inquires, voice coming out thick and strange as Sehyoon takes a seat beside him.

Sehyoon nods his head, and fans himself with the hem of his shirt.

“It’s too loud,” Sehyoon laughs lightly. “I didn’t think Junhee liked this type of stuff.”

Byeongkwan only shrugs, lifting the cocktail back to his lips and glancing up at the building in front of him. It really was fancy, big windows and needless to say massive bedrooms and more than enough space to throw a house party of this size, with more than one hundred people sprawled in every direction. It wouldn’t be too much to say that there would most likely already be people passed out in the bedrooms.

“You don’t seem that sad about him leaving,” Sehyoon comments, looking towards the building as well.

Byeongkwan glances towards him. 

“What am I, supposed to do? Cry?” 

Sehyoon smiles, lopsided and gummy, turning back to Byeongkwan. He knew Sehyoon was joking, but it made him angry regardless.

“Donghun cried.”

“Donghun is-” Byeongkwan pauses, the words wilting on his tongue.

Sehyoon quirks an eyebrow at him, before taking his drink out of Byeongkwan’s hands. He takes a sip, gaze still steady, and lowers it down onto the railing where they sit.

“Donghun is in love with him? Aren’t you, too?” 

Byeongkwan really wants to punch Sehyoon right now, but he holds it back in favour for a push which nearly sends him toppling over the railing. It doesn’t really affect him, only mark of Byeongkwan’s violence a small laugh from his side, and another sip of Byeongkwan’s drink.

“You aren’t denying it.”

“I’m not in love with Junhee, okay? How many times- times, do I need to say it?” Byeongkwan remarks, defensively, between hiccups, and grabs the cup off of Sehyoon.

He misses, and sends it flying, knocking all of the cocktail out and sending the cup onto the grass with a faint rattle of plastic and rustle of grass. He sighs, and looks at the remains of the drink splattered over the ground sadly.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Sehyoon comments, wiggling his fingers at Byeongkwan with an idiotic smile on his face. “I know your innermost thoughts~”

“Hyung, if you don’t shut up,” Byeongkwan states, swinging over the railing and landing on the grass near the cup. “You’ll end up like this.”

He crushes the plastic cup in his hands, still drops of cocktail inside, and throws its remains towards Sehyoon. The older man yells in shock, and raises his hands to protect his face.

“This is aggressive hypermasculinity,” He shouts, arms still over his face. “This violence is the reason you’re still in denial.”

“I’m not in denial!” Byeongkwan yells, throwing his hands up in the air. “Tell me how I’m in denial.”

“If you promise not to attack me again,” Sehyoon jokes, but it doesn’t garner a laugh.

Byeongkwan sits back on the railing beside him, and spares another glance inside. The lighting in the room has changed to something neon and too bright for Byeongkwan’s tired eyes. He’s fed up with this, fed up with this party and with Sehyoon annoying him and he just wants this to be over with. 

“There’s something wrong with the way you and Junhee grew up. I’m not saying your little recluse town was bad, but it didn’t help Junhee when he came out. You’ve been scared of that. Getting stones thrown at you and people calling you weak and pathetic. Even when you’re here, with us. With other people. You’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Byeongkwan slurs in protest.

“You’re also scared of losing Junhee if you tell him you love him. Junhee is the most important person to you. If you lose him…” Sehyoon trails off.

Byeongkwan stops for a moment, heart in his throat. He feels like the cocktail has caught up to him, suddenly, because his vision glazes over and all he can hear is thumping of his heartbeat in his head.

“You’d rather not be gay and have him here, than be gay and lose him forever.” Sehyoon says, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’d rather not be gay and have to worry about being disowned, being rejected by people in your life. It’s easier when it’s something you can control.”

Byeongkwan pauses, gaze heavy on Sehyoon. He doesn’t look like he’s reached a major conclusion, in fact- Byeongkwan notes- all of these things were a given. Junhee is the most important person in his life. He doesn’t want to lose him. He doesn’t want to lose his family. He doesn’t want to be gay.

“You can’t keep hiding forever, Byeongkwan. You can’t keep hurting him,” Sehyoon mumbles. “Not when he loves you too. Not when you love him like he loves you.”

_ You can’t keep hurting him. _

“I-” Byeongkwan says, suddenly rising to his feet. 

He feels dizzy, all the blood shooting upwards, like someone had shaken him viciously. He stumbles backwards. Sehyoon reaches out to catch him, but Byeongkwan pulls away from his touch.

“Byeongkwan-”

“I need a drink,” Byeongkwan says, backing towards the door and pushing through, into the heart of the party.

It’s loud, too loud. Byeongkwan needs to find a drink. He needs to find Junhee. He needs to find Junhee and- and tell him… tell him what? Tell him that he realised five minutes ago that he had feelings for Junhee, tell him to not go to Japan because he needed to stay here. What would he say? What would he-

He bustles into the kitchen, and stops in his tracks.

Junhee’s there. He’s leaning against the counter. Donghun is also there, and his hands are on either side of Junhee, also wrapped around the counter. Junhee’s hands are on Donghun’s face. Donghun’s lips are on Junhee’s. Junhee’s party hat sits on the counter, discarded. Both of their eyes are closed. They don’t notice Byeongkwan.

That’s fine.

He stumbles back out, into a stranger. They say something at him, loudly, curse at him for spilling the tray of drinks and some powder that Byeongkwan knows is illegal. He apologises, half-heartedly, words slurred, heart in his throat, and makes his way towards the exit. 

He throws up in the bushes outside. Fun. He feels like a teenager in his friend’s basement again. His friend who ran his hand down Byeongkwan’s chest and looked him straight in the eye while his hand hovered over Byeongkwan’s thigh. They were interrupted by his girlfriend, then. Byeongkwan was interrupted by Donghun, now. Sweet Donghun, Donghun who thought Junhee wouldn’t love him- not in a million years.

Guess he was wrong, too.

He doesn’t get very far before Sehyoon comes after him. Sehyoon who calls a taxi and tells Byeongkwan it’s okay to close his eyes, to fall asleep on the sidewalk. So he does, closes his eyes while Sehyoon pat his hair and wipes the crust away from the sides of his lips with the hem of his t-shirt.

-

When Byeongkwan wakes up, he’s thirsty. He doesn’t know how he’s here, how he ended up in Junhee’s bed when he was supposed to be at Junhee’s  _ party _ -

Oh.

He remembers, suddenly. Sehyoon on the railing, Donghun and Junhee in the kitchen.

Wincing, he swings his feet over the side of the bed, adjusting himself upright. He immediately regrets it as the ache makes its way to his head, pounding right behind the eyes and down the sides of his jaw. He needs water. Even if when he stands the world spins around him, he makes his way, clumsily, to the door- pushes it open without a care if it slams against the wall.

It doesn’t. He doesn’t have enough strength left in his arms to do something like that. 

He treads carefully out, on his tiptoes, makes his way to Donghun and Junhee’s living room. 

A shadow sits on the sofa, head in his hands. Byeongkwan recognises the figure, and momentarily contemplates retreating back into his-Junhee’s room, but the head of the shadow raises itself and turns towards Byeongkwan. Even in the low light, he could recognise that face anywhere. He knows it like the back of his hand, could map out freckles like constellations and draw out individual eyelashes like he was doing it from reference.

“Byeongkwan,” Junhee says, voice raspy.

He makes his way over, feet treading lightly as to not create and creaking sounds in the dead of night. The moon is full and high in the sky outside, and it illuminates the stray hairs on Junhee’s head in silver. Junhee pats the space on the sofa next to him, and Byeongkwan takes his place beside him.

“You okay?” Byeongkwan asks, his voice coming out distorted.

“Mmm,” Junhee hums, breaking it with a small, sad laugh. He buries his head in his hands again. “I don’t know.”

“Wasn’t the party good?” 

Junhee turns to him, head still resting in his hands but positioned at a ninety degree angle, eyes widened a little.

“Would it hurt your feelings if I said no?”

Byeongkwan laughs. It comes out forced and unnatural. Junhee turns to put his face back in his hands. He looks pretty, even if he has messy hair and he’s wearing an old t-shirt with holes in it. 

“I saw-” Byeongkwan begins, and Junhee straightens up and looks at him. He has dark circles beneath his eyes, and Byeongkwan immediately feels guilty.

“You and Donghun.” His voice falters in his throat.

Junhee closes his eyes, as if he could fade out of existence entirely. 

“Did Donghun not-?” 

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Junhee laughs again, humourless. “I was just trying to- feel like someone gave a shit. I know I made him cry, and I’m not an idiot, I know he- he has feelings for me.”

“You used him?”

“Yeah,” Junhee snorts unpleasantly. “I felt like, the worst person. I said sorry and he just said  _ It’s okay _ . In that voice of his. You know, the one that makes you feel guilty even if you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Byeongkwan silently agrees, and keeps his eyes on Junhee’s slumped figure. He plays with his fingers in his lap, anxiety thick in his throat, thrumming behind his eyelids and buzzing in his ears.

“Do you love him?”

“No,” Junhee answers straight away. “I wish that I did, sometimes. It’d make things easier.” 

“Easier than-”

“Byeongkwan,” Junhee says, tone warning. 

They look at each other then. Everything about Junhee is shimmering and silver under the slashes of light from the moon, and he looks ethereal. Even more so than he usually does, than he did. In Byeongkwan’s bed when they were children, on the night when Junhee told Byeongkwan he loved him for the first time. 

He wonders what’s so special about him for that not to have worn off, three years later. 

“Junhee,” Byeongkwan replies, and Junhee looks at him.

He takes Junhee’s hands into his own, and looks him straight in the eye. There’s some alcohol still in him, there’s a headache thrumming behind his eyes and his heart is dancing in his throat. Junhee is leaving tomorrow. This is the only chance he’ll get.

“I love you.” 

Junhee studies him for a moment, eyes flitting from Byeongkwan’s eyes to his lips, to the floor and back up to his eyes. Byeongkwan half expects Junhee to kiss him, to press their lips together.

“Don’t leave.”

He expects Junhee to put hold their hands tighter together, to kiss him. He expects Junhee to say it back, say I love you like he said it that one night the back of a bar before he went to live his own life.

Junhee pulls his hands away, and stands up.

“Don’t.”

Shock barely manages to register itself in Byeongkwan’s mind before he rises to his feet too, face to face with Junhee. Maybe it’s because he’s still wearing his shoes, for some godforsaken reason, but he can finally look Junhee eye to eye.

Junhee’s jaw isn’t steeled. His teeth aren’t clenched. He unlearnt that. He looks so much more beautiful when he isn’t trying to hold back what he feels.

“What?” Byeongkwan prompts.

“I’ve spent years-” Junhee chokes out. “Years, trying not to love you. Then the one time I try to get away, try to get out of here- you tell me you love me. You couldn’t do this last year? You’re the one who told me to leave, Byeongkwan. You can’t tell me to stay.”

“I realised, Sehyoon told me-”

“Sehyoon told you what,” Junhee snaps, voice rising in volume. “What did he tell you, that made you suddenly realise? The day before I’m leaving, the day before everything changes. What, you want me to stay so I can love you? You want me to stay so you can love me? After all this time, one conversation with Sehyoon made up for all the years I’ve been trying to- stop loving you.”

There’s a beat of silence, and a distant rustling. Byeongkwan’s half sure both Sehyoon and Donghun have woken up at this point. He’s half sure the people above them, the people below them are awake too. He certainly is- awake, and suddenly sober, suddenly conscious of the tears glistening in Junhee’s eyes- silver as they fall.

“I spent years loving a straight boy,” Junhee whispers, angry, veins prominent in his neck. “Then the moment I leave, you’re gay. I’m done, Byeongkwan.” 

“Okay,” Byeongkwan says, simple. He clenches his fist, nails digging into his palm. 

“Okay? Is that all you want to say? Is that how much you love me?” 

There’s another few seconds of silence, and the tension fades from Junhee’s shoulders, the anger drops from his gaze. He ruffles the back of his hair with his hand and looks towards Byeongkwan.

“I’m sorry,” is all he can say.

“Yeah,” Junhee replies, bitter smile on his face. “I’m sorry too.” 


	8. twenty years old

The rain whips against the window, faint drops easing into a constant sheet thundering down from above. It fills the car with it’s sound, only cut through by the crackling and slow melody of the radio Donghun has playing. The older man taps his fingers against his steering wheel, lips pulled into a pout, peering out past the windscreen wipers that sweep the rain away from his vision.   
  
A faint whir of a plane engine above their head makes itself known, accompanied by the rattling of trolleys which transport departures suitcases. Despite that, silence shrouds the car, Byeongkwan leaning back awkwardly in his seat, mouth feeling dry.   
  
“Hyung,” He says.   
  
Donghun turns to face him, face grey under the light which filters through the constant shower of rain.   
  
“I told Junhee I loved him. Before he left.”    
  
Donghun turns to face out towards the rain, and licks his lips anxiously. Byeongkwan is half afraid that Donghun will kick him out of the car, leave him in the airport terminal parking. Yet, unsurprisingly, he doesn’t-just looks out past his dashboard, past the windscreen and the rain and the airport, and stays perfectly still until he says:   
  
“I know. I heard you.”    
  
“He said-”   
  
“I know.”   
  
Junhee’s flight was today. Coming back from Tokyo, from the streets that were home to him for over a year. He hadn’t stepped foot in Seoul for that long, for Christmases and birthdays, preferring a static-riddled phone call for each occasion with long pauses and hefty yawns that Donghun immediately ushered him to sleep.   
  
Silence surrounds them again, more tensely so than before.    
  
“God,” Donghun laughs, finally, interrupting the quiet. “Why is he taking so long?”    
  
Byeongkwan’s not sure he knows how to reply. He just looks over and shoots a smile at Donghun, who’s still looking forward with stern, sad eyes and lips spread now into a straight line. He has bags under his eyes, evidence of his final exams of university in his tired glare. Byeongkwan is unsure that Junhee coming back after a year or so of being away is necessarily the best thing for him at the moment, his relative excitement of Junhee’s 144p skype call fading quicker than imagined.   
  
“I don’t know how everything is gonna be when he’s here again,” Byeongkwan confesses, and looks towards Donghun for support. The older man sighs, reaches up to the nape of his neck, expression obviously uncomfortable.   
  
“I don’t know either, Byeongkwan. It’s up to you.”   
  
There’s a thump on the side of the car, and they both turn their heads.   
  
Junhee stands there, covered in a bright red parka, face eased into a ridiculous smile. Byeongkwan looks at him, grins, looks down at Donghun who’s also smiling, hand poised on the handle of his car. Bad idea, he immediately thinks, looking at the rain crashing down outside and lightning brightening the sky.   
  
Donghun pops the trunk open with a press of a button, and they both stay in silence until Junhee enters the backseat. They both turn to face him, watch as Junhee lowers his hood with a smile- previously black hair now caramel coloured again, cheeks a little thinner, eyes a little more exhausted.    
  
They all greet each other, outstretched hands and smiles before Donghun turns to pull the car out of the parking lot. Junhee carries on holding Byeongkwan’s hand, squeezing it tighter even as he turns to face the grey sky in front of him. His hands are warm and soft and so achingly small in Byeongkwan’s that he almost wants to cry from the sudden relief and comfort of his hands.   
  
He’s being overdramatic. He clears his throat a little, and eases his palm away from Junhee’s, ignoring his heart thrumming in a clear, thin beat in his throat.    
  
“How was your flight?” Donghun asks, looks up to glance at Junhee in the rearview mirror.    
  
He smiles, and replies with a brief description of his experience of airport security. Byeongkwan tunes out for most of it, just listens to the clear cut of Junhee’s voice against the humming of the car heater and the never ending fall of rain. Donghun’s laugh even sounds rich, honey like, and Junhee’s voice is sharp and loud against it all- the only thing that somewhat rouses Byeongkwan from his sleepiness.   
  
The traffic is light, and they arrive quickly back at Junhee and Donghun’s apartment, which Sehyoon has temporarily taken residence in place of Junhee. Junhee only laughs at that revelation, unbuttoning his parka as he makes a half-hearted grab for his suitcase before he’s disrupted by Donghun’s firm hands. They look at each other for a moment, and Byeongkwan watches the two of them- staring- before Donghun moves past Junhee, suitcase in hand, for the stairs.   
  
Junhee looks over to Byeongkwan, and Byeongkwan shrugs. He wants to reassure Junhee, but he doubts he could.   
  
The apartment is filled with messy decorations of Junhee’s welcome home. Sehyoon’s friend, Yuchan, a recent addition to their friendship group, sits beside him on the sofa, eyes blank, only lighting up when he sees Junhee and Byeongkwan enter. He makes a bee line for Junhee, immediately bowing and stretching out his hands as Byeongkwan shuts the door behind him with a small click. Junhee’s suitcase now rests against the dining table, and Byeongkwan spies the disruption of the carpet with shoe soles that leads into the kitchen.   
  
He follows, and finds Donghun there, staring at the counter. Both of his arms are pushed behind him, and his eyes are vacant.   
  
“Donghun?” Byeongkwan says.   
  
Donghun looks up, shaking himself from thought, offering a shy smile.   
  
“Is everything okay?”    
  
There’s a small pause where the two of them look at each other. They aren’t so different, Byeongkwan thinks- both of their circumstances similarly aligning like an eclipse that crowds over them.   
  
“Are you alright?” He says, candid.   
  
Donghun just lets out a breathless laugh, bitter, more an exhale than anything else- more sad than funny, and looks down towards the tiled floor beneath their feet. Byeongkwan knows he shouldn’t feel pity, shouldn’t feel bad or upset for Donghun because Donghun isn’t someone who needs or wants it from anyone, but he can’t help it when he sees the look in Donghun’s eye. Somewhere in the background, he hears the faint mixture of Sehyoon’s laugh and Junhee’s ticklish giggle.    
  
“Are you-” Byeongkwan begins, and stops himself before he can say anything else. It’s a smart decision, because immediately after Byeongkwan starts speaking Donghun presses his thumb and middle finger to either of his temples and sighs loudly.   
  
“‘M fine. It’s just,” He pauses. “Junhee.” A laugh, one that likely isn’t very happy. “He’s back. You know. Everything just, was a bit messed up before he left. Now I’m thinking about it again.”   
  
Byeongkwan nods, understanding, trying to put on an earnest expression only to earn another half-laugh from Donghun.   
  
“I-” He hangs his head low, and shakes it slightly, dark hair obscuring his features. “It’s how he felt when he realised he loved you, I guess.”   
  
Byeongkwan suddenly feels very small again, like a child, like he’s sitting with his head in the grass of Junhee’s backyard listening to him talk about Rayoon and feeling immensely out of his depth. He doesn’t know what to say, only opts for biting his lip a little harder, gaze a little more intense on Donghun.   
  
“It’s just- shit, I guess,” Donghun chuckles, genuinely this time. “It’s been a long ass time, and I’m still in love with him. Isn’t that sad?”   
  
Byeongkwan doesn’t think so, doesn’t think anything about how Donghun loved Junhee could be anything short of beautiful rather than heartbreaking, but he supposes he could never know how Donghun feels. So, he just shrugs, half a smile across his face. Donghun grins in response, pushes himself off the counter and past Byeongkwan with a small pat on his back. Byeongkwan clears his throat, shakes his head, and heads out along with Donghun- back into the living room with small slashes of sunshine coming through the rain and all four of his closest friends piled on the sofa.   
  
He smiles at the sight of them.   
  
Yuchan is already sprawled across Junhee’s lap, the two laughing and joking like they’ve known each other for five years, much less five minutes. Sehyoon watches from the sidelines, hand clapped over his mouth, eyes spread into a loving smile. Donghun sits besides them, hands grappling at Yuchan’s head, obviously angry at something he had said. It feels warm, kinda right and domestic and big in the middle of Byeongkwan’s chest.   
  
He catches eyes with Junhee, and smiles. Junhee smiles back, all his teeth out, eyes falling into small crescent moons, crows feet sharp by the corners of his eyes.    
  
“We should get food~” Yuchan suggests, throwing an arm over his face.   
  
“I can go get it,” Byeongkwan offers, immediately, reaching for the coat that still drips water across the carpeted floor. “We can get chicken from the place down the street.”   
  
“I’ll come with you,” Junhee says.   
  
He looks at Junhee, then at Donghun, then back to Junhee again. He still wears the same easy smile, has the same easy bounce to his step as he approaches and drapes his parka over his shoulders again. Byeongkwan just watches as Junhee reaches for the keys still in the same bowl, turns the doorknob and gestures for Byeongkwan to leave first as if he had never left this place.    
  
They go carefully, Junhee clinging to Byeongkwan’s arm in an effort not to slip even as they just take the straight path down the road and into a corner not too far from the apartment building. It’s a lot warmer inside the store they enter, and it’s lit warmly- a contrast from the blues and greys that surround the outside. Junhee pulls the hood of his parka down, ruffles his own hair and smiles as Byeongkwan returns from ordering the food and pulls out a chair to sit down.   
  
Orange light bathes him in it’s glow, and even as he casts his eyes downwards towards the table, towards his hands and the reddened skin surrounding his nails, Byeongkwan can’t take his eyes off of him. Junhee doesn’t seem to notice, peeling long strips of skin from his fingers until Byeongkwan reaches out and wraps his hands in his own, thumbs secure around Junhee’s fists and eyes insistent on his own.    
  
“Sorry,” Junhee says, sheepish.    
  
“It’s okay,” Byeongkwan replies with a small smile, running his thumb over Junhee’s knuckles.    
  
Junhee looks down at their interlocked hands, and Byeongkwan just squeezes them tighter together- as if to make a point.    
  
“Is this okay?”   
  
Junhee nods yes in reply, smiles just a little so the corners of his eyes crease. Byeongkwan counts the crows feet, commits them to memory, notices how Junhee’s eyebrow quirks up before it falls back to position. His lips are pouting, and all Byeongkwan wants to do is lean forward and kiss him.   
  
His hands are shaking, just slightly. His entire body is buzzing with adrenaline.   
  
The woman calls from the front desk, and Byeongkwan rises from his seat instantly, pulling out his wallet to pay as he walks towards her. He tries to ignore Junhee’s eyes burning holes into his back.   
  
They return to the apartment fairly uneventfully after that, no words exchanged, Junhee’s hand finding Byeongkwan’s free one as the stroll down the road together. As soon as they enter, however, Junhee lets go, takes the bags of takeaway off of Byeongkwan and strides forward- raising both his arms and smiling towards the three men lazing around the sofas.   
  
The sofas are pushed back, easy, and a cloth is laid across the floor, the coffee table becoming the centre of which they all huddle around and place their takeaway on. The TV plays faintly in the background, the main noise Yuchan’s yelling and Donghun’s gentle questioning and Junhee’s soft laughter. It feels a lot like home then, that moment- caught and framed in time, the five of them together, sharing a box of chicken and laughing with the TV low in the background.   
  
After they’ve ate, Junhee accompanies Byeongkwan back into the kitchen with handfuls of plates and takeaway boxes which are discarded quickly into the trash. Even with Junhee milling about around him as he washes the dishes, Byeongkwan feels anxious in shaking hands and dropped plates- scared of the eventual confrontation that will need to happen.   
  
Junhee. Junhee. Junhee walking around the kitchen whistling, Junhee sitting on the dining room table talking about his flight to Byeongkwan, Junhee rubbing at his blood stained nails with a shy smile. Junhee, who Byeongkwan could write novels and poems about, who Byeongkwan could read like one too, who Byeongkwan knew inside out and upside down, better than anyone, better than himself. Junhee. All Junhee.    
  
“We should go out on a walk,” Junhee offers. “To catch up.”   
  
“Sure,” Byeongkwan replies, too quick, voice riddled with nerves, hands quivering even as he just reaches to turn the tap off. “Yeah.”   
  
There’s no excuse to make as they leave, just Sehyoon giving Byeongkwan a brief salute which earns him a middle finger in return as he shuts the door behind him lightly. They descend the staircase together, side by side, shoulder’s brushing, Junhee talking yet again- this time about the takeaway and about Yuchan and about everything but what he knew they needed to talk about.   
  
“How was Japan?” Byeongkwan questions, as they begin walking.   
  
Junhee’s hands are buried deep into his pockets, scarf pulled up to his reddened nose. He looks small, even if he’s taller than Byeongkwan, even if he’s older.    
  
“Good,” He replies breathily. “I missed you.”    
  
The air is harsh and unforgiving on their skin, breeze sweeping back their hair and reddening the tips of their noses and ears. The sky is quickly darkening, sun dipping below the horizon and stealing with it the colours of day. Byeongkwan watches it mournfully, a million words stuck in his throat that he wishes he could say.   
  
“Yeah. I’m glad you had fun, I missed you too.”   
  
Monotone, not looking at Junhee- straight forwards, in the direction which they walk. Junhee doesn’t say anything in reply to his words, just buries his hands further into his pockets, stares straight forwards. Leaves crunch beneath their feet, the only sound in the noisy silence.    
  
They carry on walking. Around the block, and then down next to main streets and through into a park, where they take a brief break on a bench. Ducks croon in the pond nearby, leaves are brushed away by the gentle blow of the wind. Junhee sits amongst it all, hands in his pockets, leaning into the bench, eyes unfocused as he looks forward.   
  
“It’s pretty here,” Junhee says. “Reminds me of home.”    
  
Home. Where they grew up together. Junhee’s bedroom and golden wheat fields that glistened in the late afternoon sun, the highlights in Junhee’s hair catching the summer glow. Basements filled with smoke, moving in packs through shopping malls, girls leaning against brick walls and winking at Byeongkwan as he walked past. Two different homes. He liked Junhee’s better.   
  
“Do you remember,” Junhee laughs, airy. “We’d cycle everywhere. To the field, to school, to each other’s houses.”    
  
“How could I forget,” Byeongkwan says earnestly, and meets Junhee’s eyes with a fond smile.    
  
“It feels so far away,” Junhee comments, and reaches for Byeongkwan’s hand. He leans forward slightly as he intertwines their fingers, thumb tucked between their palms. “Being with you feels so far away.”    
  
“You’re the one who left,” Byeongkwan replies, honest, and looks towards Junhee.   
  
“You’re the one who told me to leave,” Junhee shoots back, playful, with a smile.   
  
“I’m also the one who told you to stay.”   
  
Junhee’s smile wavers and falls, and he redirects his gaze from Byeongkwan’s face out towards the view of the park. He’s inescapably hard to read in that millisecond, his expression flashing with a million feelings at once.   
  
“I only told you to leave because I knew it’d make you happy,” Byeongkwan whispers. “I didn’t say it because I wanted you to go.”   
  
Junhee sighs them, a big deep breath that forms into a cloud of white mist as he exhales.    
  
“I know.”    
  
More silence. It envelops them like a blanket now, drapes them in it’s cool indifference. Byeongkwan itches beneath its weight.   
  
“That night,” Byeongkwan begins, voice shaky. “I meant everything I said.”   
  
Junhee looks towards him, eyes catching the glint of the moon. They nearly sparkle in the light, and Byeongkwan looks down with half a laugh falling off his lips, hand involuntarily tightening around Junhee’s.   
  
“It was Donghun, and Sehyoon,” Byeongkwan says, small. “That made me realise. Who told me, you know, being gay- I could be gay. I could. I didn’t have to be- like you, fashionable and suave or whatever. And I didn’t have to- be, weak.”   
  
Junhee tries to pull his hand away, then, but Byeongkwan holds onto it tighter.    
  
“You’re not weak, hyung. I think, being strong doesn’t mean not crying, or- not, showing any emotion. You’re strong, and I realised that, I- figured out that I didn’t have to be, ‘strong’, or, yeah. I didn’t have to. It’s better not to be.”   
  
Byeongkwan is afraid to look at Junhee’s eyes, look at his facial expression as he says all of this, so he carries on.    
  
“You know, I loved you, and I realised that a while ago- a long time ago. When you came out to your dad and I realised you are probably the, the strongest person I know,” Byeongkwan stutters, voice quivering, trying to shake away the fear by shaking his head as he speaks. “And, I-I didn’t want to be gay because then I’d be like Rayoon, or like _, and I wanted to be- to have, this. Being your best friend. I didn’t want to ruin that.”    
  
“Byeongkwan-” Junhee begins, but Byeongkwan cuts him off.   
  
“I don’t know. I’m sorry, hyung,” He looks up at Junhee and his slightly softened, slightly harder, mostly just plain beautiful expression, lit up in silver. “I’m sorry it took so long. I-I, I love you. I want to- be more than this. I want to-”   
  
“I want to kiss you,” Junhee says, soft.    
  
They look at each other for a moment, and there’s something unsaid and said too much that moves between them. Junhee leans forward and closes the distance with his soft, dry lips- he’s warm and cold at the same time, burning but shaking as Byeongkwan places a delicate hand on the side of his face. It’s almost pathetic how Byeongkwan’s heart is in his throat as he kisses Junhee- as he moves around a little so they can kiss properly, like they’re teenagers again and this is Junhee’s first kiss, all over again.    
  
“Hyung,” is the first word Byeongkwan says when Junhee breaks apart from him.   
  
Junhee keeps his eyes closed, centimetres away from Byeongkwan. His eyelashes fan out against his cheek, and Byeongkwan counts them, counts the freckles on his cheeks and remembers the curve of his eye and the rise and fall of his eyebrow. He’s so close, so near, so reachable and touchable.   
  
Byeongkwan wishes he kissed him sooner. Wishes he returned it the first time it happened, wish he wasn’t a coward who waited this long, wish Junhee didn’t have to be wearing Japanese street fashion for Byeongkwan to be able to hold his hand and tell him he loved him.    
  
“I’m sorry,” Byeongkwan mumbles, resting his forehead against Junhee’s.   
  
Junhee still has his eyes closed, but he smiles a little at the contact.   
  
“Don’t apologise, don’t say sorry,” Junhee mutters. “This is perfect. Don’t say sorry.”    
  
Byeongkwan feels like crying, feels like a supernova who will explode into nothing and suck Junhee in with him. He lifts up his hands, untangles it from Junhee’s own to touch his face instead- run his fingers along the plane of his cheeks and his cheekbone. Junhee opens his eyes then, watches Byeongkwan intently as he does so, as he matches sensations to the images he has engraved in his mind.    
  
The wind blows, a little harder, and Junhee smiles.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading <3  
> follow me on twt @4junhun and please leave comments bc i love reading them !!

**Author's Note:**

> leave a kudos/comment if you liked it because i love reading and replying!!  
> 


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